«iH 


jjpe  to  macros 


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TALES   OF 

IRISH    LIFE   AND   CHARACTER 


UNIFORM  WITH  THIS   VOLUME 

REMINISCENCES  OF  SCOT- 
TISH LIFE  AND  CHARAC- 
TER. By  DEAN  RAMSAY.  With 
16  tipped  illustrations  in  color  by 
H.W.  Kerr.  Crown  8vo.  JVM,  £1.75 

SKETCHES  OF  ENGLISH  LIFE 
AND  CHARACTER.  By  MARY 
E.  MITFORD.  With  16  tipped 
illustrations  in  color  by  Stanhope 
A.  Forbes,  A.  R.  A.  Crown  8vo. 
Net,  $1.75 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
CHICAGO 


m  i 


LISTENIN'  TO   RAISON 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,    R.S.A. 


'  For  if  you  and  I  were  one 
All  confusion  would  be  gone, 
An'  'twould  simplify  the  matter  entirely, 
An'  'twould  save  us  so  much  bother 
When  we'd  both  be  one  another, 
So  listen  now  to  raison,  Molly  Brierly." 


TALES  OF 

IRISH    LIFE   AND 
CHARACTER 


BY 

MRS.  S.  C.   HALL 

AUTHOR  OF 
'LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  IRISH  LIFE,"  ETC. 


WITH  SIXTEEN  REPRODUCTIONS  FROM  THE  PAINTINGS 
OF  ERPKINE  NICOL,  R.  S.  A. 


CHICAGO 
A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

EDINBURGH:  T.  N.  FOULIS 
IQIO 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 


CONTENTS 


THE  JAUNTING  CAR      .  9 

THE  BANNOW  POSTMAN          .          .          .          -38 
WE'LL  SEE  ABOUT  IT     .  .          .          .  -78 

BEGGARS  .......      85 

NATURALS  .  .  .  .  .  .115 

KELLY  THE  PIPER        .          .          .          .          .161 

ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  IRISH  PRIDE        .  .  .191 

LILLY  O'BRIEN  .  .  .  .  .  .    213 

"  TAKE  IT  EASY  "          ...  .  .  .    285 

MASTER  BEN      .......  .  .  .  .    295 

MOYNA  BRADY  ......    310 


2061338 


PUBLISHER'S    NOTE 

THE  Publisher  is  much  indebted 
to  John  Jordan^  Esq.,  and  to 
Mrs.  Lindsay  for  their  kind 
permission  to  reproduce  in  this 
volume  the  fine  examples  of 
Erskine  NicoVs  work. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

from  Paintings  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,  R.S.A. 


LISTENIN'  TO  RAISON  ....    Frontispiece 

HOME  RULE      .....  Page   24 

"DON'T  PROVOKE  ME"          ...  „      40 

GREGORY           .           ...           .  „      56 

A  CARD  PARTY           .          .           .           .  „      72 

GIPSIES  ON  THE  ROAD           ...  ,,88 

BUYING  CHINA            ....  „    104 

MOLLY  CAREW            .           .           .           .  ,,120 

THE  LEASE  REFUSED  .           .           .           .  ,,136 

AN  IRISH  MERRYMAKING      .           .      -   .  „    168 

PRATIES  AND  POINT    .           .           *          .  „    184 

"WOULD  IT  POUT  WITH  ITS  BIDDY?"        .  „    216 

BRIGHT  PROSPECTS     .          .  „    232 

THE  LEGACY     .....  „    264 

BOTHERED        .           .           .          .           .  „    280 

INCONVENIENCES  OF  A  SINGLE  LIFE          .  „    312 

7 


IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


THE   JAUNTING    CAR 

"  A  beautiful  car !  Won't  your  honour  go  with 
Shaun  Langly  ?  Sorra  such  a  horse  from  Passage 
to  Waterford.  Stand  out  o'  the  way,  ye  pack  of 
impostors  !  .Sure  it  isn't  such  a  garron  as  that  you'd 
put  before  his  honour?  Look  at  his  shandrum- 
dandy !  Whew  !  it  hangs  together  by  nothing  at 
all ! — it'll  go  to  pieces  the  first  bit  of  bad  road  that 
comes  in  its  way ;  and  there'll  be  plenty  of  that 
same,  I'll  go  bail." 

This  was  the  first  specimen  of  genuine  Irish 
brogue  I  had  heard  for  some  years,  and  I  felt  an 
indescribable  sensation  as  it  fell  upon  my  ear,  while 
once  again  standing  on  my  native  soil.  Our  reply 
to  the  invitation  was,  "  We  don't  want  a  car." 

"  Oh  !  I  ax  your  honour's  pardon.  Then  it's  for 
you  the  Swish  car  is  waitin'  there  all  the  mornin' 
forenint  us  at  the  side  o'  the  hill.  Holloa !  Misther 
Alley's  man !  Come  down,  will  ye  ?  Here's  the 
English  company.  Come,  step  out.  Holloo !  hoi- 


10  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

loo !  "  And  our  friend  "  hollooed  "  so  loudly  that 
he  would  have  been  invaluable  as  a  speaking-trum- 
pet on  board  the  steamboat  we  had  just  quitted. 
In  answer  to  his  summons,  half  tumbling,  whole 
galloping  down  the  hill,  came  the  Swiss  car. 

I  have  said  that  many  years  had  passed  since  I 
had  found  an  abiding  place  in  my  native  land  ;  and 
sooth  to  say,  I  had  a  sort  of  intuitive  dread  that  my 
remembrances  would  lose  much  of  their  couleur  de 
rose  if  brought  into  actual  contact  with  the  realities 
of  Irish  life.  My  poetry  and  patriotism  received  a 
severe  shock  on  perceiving  that  the  inhabitants  of 
Passage  had  whitewashed  the  roofs  instead  of  the 
w alls  of  their  cabins  ;  and  that  the  pigs  roved  from 
dwelling  to  dwelling  in  unrestrained  freedom  and 
loquacity.  I  wonder  what  Turner  would  make  of 
the  village  of  Passage  in  one  of  his  foregrounds  ? 
Would  it  be  possible  to  idealise  it? — that  little 
church  upon  the  hill  looks  really  as  if  Protestantism 
was  decaying  as  fast  as  its  adversaries  could  desire. 
But  then  the  pigs, — the  everlasting  pigs, — long- 
backed,  grunting,  dirty  animals.  One  would  be  led 
to  imagine,  from  a  peep  into  Passage,  that  Ireland 
was  a  vast  pig-sty. 

"This  will  never  do,"  thought  I  to  myself, 
shutting  my  eyes  upon  the  ugly  village  of  Bally- 
hack, — on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river, — when 
fairly  stowed  away  in  the  very  pretty  and  con- 
venient machine  sent  for  us  by  our  friends.  "  I 
shall  hate  the  country  before  I  arrive  at  my 
journey's  end." 


THE  JAUNTING  CAR  II 

"Is  the  sun  too  much  in  yer  eyes,  ma'am 
dear  ? "  exclaimed  a  kind  voice  at  my  elbow,  just  as 
the  driver  was  mounting.  "  Put  up  yer  numparal, 
my  darlint.  Yer  bonnet's  too  small,  my  lady : 
which,  though  an  advantage  to  me,  is  the  contrary 
to  you.  It's  a  beautiful  sun,  God  bless  it,  for  the 
harvest ;  but  I'm  doubtin'  if  it's  as  bright  over  the 
wather  as  it  is  here.  Well,  glory  be  to  God,  they 
can't  take  the  bames  of  the  sun  from  us,  anyway. 
There,  now  you're  not  so  sinsible  of  the  heat !  A 
safe  and  plisant  journey  to  ye  here  and  hereafther  ! 
Take  the  baste  asy,  Michael,  up  the  hill.  Sure 
Ireland's  bothered  entirely  wid  the  hills ;  but  the 
roads  are  as  smooth  as  wax  from  this  to  Ban  now." 
And  on  we  went. 

How  very,  very  delightful  is  a  small  kindness, 
garnished  by  a  little  bit  of  flattery.  The  church 
upon  the  opposite  hill  became  absolutely  pictur- 
esque; and  so  would  have  been  the  village — but 
for  the  pigs.  An  old  lady  with  thirteen  young 
ones  had  taken  undisputed  possession  of  a  kish  of 
potatoes  under  shelter  of  what  was  called  a  cottage 
door,  while  its  kind  mistress,  intent  upon  my  not 
being  incommoded  by  the  sunbeams,  either  did 
not  see,  or  seeing,  did  not  heed,  their  ravages.  I 
thought  of  the  happy  pigs  of  Mullinavat,  who  have 
the  clean  straw  to  lie  upon,  while  their  lords  and 
masters  put  up  with  the  dirty ;  who  eat  that  Irish 
luxury,  a  maley  potato,  while  their  mistresses  are 
content  with  the  damp  ones ;  and  who  go  to  bed 
by  candlelight,  while  the  family  sit  in  the  dark. 


12  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

The  pretty  Swiss  car  conveyed  us  to  a  house 
where  the  cordial  welcome  of  people  I  had  never 
before  seen  assured  me  I  was  not  in  England.  I 
mean  no  offence  to  a  nation  I  esteem — ay,  and 
love — more  than  any  other  in  the  world;  but  I 
must  say  the  English  have  not  the  art  of  making 
strangers  feel  at  their  ease.  The  French  have 
acquired  it  by  study;  but  an  Irishman  is  born 
with  it — it  is  found  in  the  peasant's  hut  as  well  as 
in  nobler  dwellings.  The  moment  you  set  foot  on 
Irish  ground,  you  feel  "at  home."  That  domestic 
epithet  is  the  only  one  I  can  find  to  convey  a 
perfect  idea  of  the  freedom  and  hospitality  which 
prevail  there  among  all  classes  of  society. 

When  the  time  came  for  us  to  proceed  on  our 
journey,  it  was  found  that  the  Swiss  car  could 
not  take  our  luggage,  so  we  determined  to  hire  a 
machine  which  we  heard  was  "  wonderful  strong," 
and  a  horse  that  "  would  go  to  Bannow  and  back 
in  less  than  no  time." 

Now  I  am  anxious  that  my  experience  should 
warn  others  against  the  evils  of  Irish  travelling — 
at  least  in  so  far  as  concerns  the  confiding  of  life 
and  limb  to  the  tender  mercies  of  "  an  outside  jaunt- 
ing car."  Public  or  private,  they  are  all  execrable. 
Had  my  English  readers  ever  the  good  fortune  to 
behold  one  ?  If  not,  let  them  imagine  a  long  box, 
elevated  upon  what  are  called  springs.  This  long 
box  forms  the  centre  of  the  machine,  and,  to  con- 
fess the  truth,  is  a  convenient  place  for  conveying 
luggage.  At  each  side  of  the  under  part  of  this  box 


THE  JAUNTING  CAR  13 

projects  a  board,  which  forms  the  seats ;  and  from 
these  depend  narrow,  movable  steps,  upon  which 
it  is  intended  the  feet  of  the  travellers  shall  rest. 
The  driver's  seat  is  elevated  over  one  end  of  the 
box,  and  is  generally  composed  of  crooked  bars  of 
iron;  while  the  harness,  perfectly  independent  of  oil 
or  blacking,  is  twisted  and  patched,  and  tied  so  as 
to  leave  but  little  trace  of  what  it  originally  was, 
either  in  formation  or  quality.  Upon  one  of  those 
atrocities  was  I  seated,  my  feet  hanging  down  upon 
the  "  step  " ; — if  I  leaned  back,  I  bumped  my  head 
against  the  driver's  seat ;  if  I  sat  forward,  I  must 
inevitably  have  fallen  upon  what  our  charioteer 
called  "Bran  new  powdher  pavement?  the  said 
powdher  pavement  consisting  of  a  quantity  of  red 
granite  broken  into  lumps  the  size  of  a  giant's 
hand,  and  strewn  thickly  over  the  hills  and  hollows 
of  a  most  wicked  road. 

Our  party  consisted  of  three.  Now,  on  these  cars 
you  are  placed  dos-a-dos,  and  as  three  could  not 
possibly  sit  on  a  side  intended  for  two,  I  had  half  the 
vehicle  to  myself;  the  gentlemen  chatting  politics 
on  the  back  opposite  (to  invent  an  Irishism)  seat. 

"  I  hope  yer  honour's  comfortable  ? "  inquired 
the  driver,  after  a  terrific  jolt,  with  that  familiar 
yet  respectful  manner  which  distinguishes  a  race 
now  almost  extinct  even  in  primitive  Ireland — the 
race  of  old  servants.  "  I  hope  yer  honour's  com- 
fortable ?  I  think  this  a  dale  pleasanter  than  them 
Swish  cars,  though  I  did  my  best  to  make  that  asy 
for  you  this  morning." 


14  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  Indeed  !     What  did  you  do  to  it,  Michael  ?  " 

"  Faith,  then,  just  put  half  a  hundred  of  stones  in 
the  bottom  of  it,  and  plenty  of  straw  over  them  to 
keep  it  steady,  which  you'd  ha'  never  know'd — only 
I'm  afther  telling  you :  these  mighty  fly-away  cars, 
them  furrin  ones,  are  not  asy  and  steady  like 
these" — (another  terrific  jolt  that  would  have  de- 
stroyed the  springs  of  the  best -made  London 
phaeton). — Michael  looked  round  at  me,  and  then 
repeated,  "  I  hope  yer  honour's  comfortable!  "  It 
seemed  a  bitter  mockery  of  comfort,  and  yet  poor 
Michael  did  not  mean  it  so.  At  last  we  got  over 
the  "  powdher  pavement,"  and  even  the  gentlemen 
congratulated  themselves  on  the  event,  when,  lo 
and  behold !  we  stood  at  the  foot  of  what  I  was 
told  was  a  "little  hill"  The  poor  horse  eyed  it  with 
strong  symptoms  of  dislike. 

"  It's  a  fine  mornin',"  said  Mike,  pulling  the  horse 
to  a  dead  stop. 

"  So  it  is,"  said  I. 

"Gintlemin,  there's  a  beautiful  view  from  this 
hill,"  persisted  our  driver, "  and  the  sweetest  of  fresh 
air — and  to  walk  it  up  would  do  ye  a  dale  of  good. 
Ye  might  travel  long  enough  in  England  widout 
comin'  across  such  a  prospict." 

"  Shall  I  walk  also,  Michael  ?  " 

"Oh,  sorra  a  step!  Sure  Nimble  (that's  the 
baste's  name)  will  go  a  dale  the  better  from  havin' 
a  lady  to  carry.  Gee  up,  my  man !  Cushla 
machree  was  every  inch  of  ye.  Nimble,  my  dar- 
lint !  it's  yerself  that  was  the  beauty — onct ! " 


THE  JAUNTING  CAR  1 5 

"  It  is  a  long  time  ago,  then,"  replied  I,  looking 
with  compassion  upon  the  poor  long-boned  animal. 

"  Indeed  you  may  say  that,  lady  dear.  You  see 
he's  kilt  entirely  with  the  hard  work,  and  the  poor 
appetite ;  though  that  last  is  lucky,  for  it's  little  the 
man  that  owns  him  has  to  give  him  to  eat." 

"  How  is  that,  Michael  ?  " 

"  Faith,  it's  myself  can't  tell  you,  my  lady ;  only 
sorrow  has  long  legs,  and  his  landlord's  as  hard  as 
the  devil's  forehead  " — (another  jolt ;  I  thought  the 
car  was  broken  to  atoms). 

"  Michael,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Troth,  ma'am,  we're  done  for !  I  wish  I  hadn't 
sent  the  gintlemin  on ;  but  you  wouldn't  have  a 
knife,  or  a  piece  of  ould  leather,  or  a  taste  o'  rope 
in  yer  pocket?  Asy,  Nimble — bad  luck  to  ye, 
will  ye  stand  asy  ?  Small  blame  to  the  baste  to 
want  to  get  on  ;  there's  a  black  cloud  comin'  over 
Knocknaughdowly  will  soak  every  tack  on  our 
backs  in  five  minutes,  and  sorra  a  house  nearer  than 
Kilborristhane.  Come  here,  do,  you  little  gossoon. 
Run  afther  thim  gintlemin,  and  call  thim  back ;  and 
harkee !  give  me  that  piece  of  string  that's  round 
yer  hat.  Now  run,  run  for  the  dear  life.  Och,  faith, 
we're  in  for  it !  This  harness  'ill  never  reach  Bannow; 
an'  deed  an'  deed  poor  Nimble  seems  unasy." 

"  Was  he  in  harness  to-day,  before  ?  " 

"  He  was." 

"  Did  he  go  far  ? " 

"  Not  to  say  far,  only  three  mile.  I  mean  three 
goin'  and  three  comin'." 


1 6  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  Had  he  a  heavy  load  ?  " 

"  Faith,  he  had.  Mrs.  Graham  and  seven  of  her 
children,  and  two  nurses,  and  the  bathin'  woman, 
goin'  and  comin'  to  the  salt  wather,  to  say  nothin' 
of  the  fish  and  stones  and  things  they  brings  home 
afther  bathin'." 

"  I  think,"  I  replied,  jumping  off  the  car,  "  that  I 
will  walk  on  to  the  next  village,  and  send  you  some 
assistance ;  it  is  evident  the  horse  can  never  achieve 
the  hill." 

"  God  bless  you,  ma'am  dear ;  isn't  he  like  our- 
selves, used  to  all  manner  of  slavery !  I  ax  yer 
pardon !  but  if  yer  ladyship  would  lind  me  a  loan 
of  the  string  of  your  cloak,  it  would  mend  this  little 
fray  in  the  harness,  and  the  never  a  bit  of  harm 
would  I  do  it." 

To  Michael's  astonishment,  I  did  not  feel  disposed 
to  part  with  what  he  so  irreverently  termed  the  string' 
of  my  cloak,  but  climbed  up  the  hill  until  I  overtook 
my  companions.  One  of  them,  a  native  of  the  soil, 
only  laughed  at  my  dilemma ;  he  was  accustomed 
to  such  adventures,  and  said  that  within  less  than 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  he  should  procure  a  capital  horse 
from  a  Mr.  Matty  Byrne ;  and  the  poor  animal,  who 
had  been  previously  worn  out  in  the  service  of  Mrs. 
Graham  and  her  countless  children,  might  fare  as 
he  best  could  by  the  roadside  till  the  jaunting  car 
returned. 

We  posted  on  as  fast  as  possible  to  Master  Byrne's, 
and  found  his  residence  in  good  time — that  is,  just  be- 
fore the  pelting  of  the  pitiless  storm  had  commenced. 


THE  JAUNTING   CAR  IJ 

"  Had  he  a  horse? "  " To  be  sure  he  had — three 
— beauties !  Would  flog  the  country  to  produce 
three  such!"  "Would  he  lend  it?"  "To  Mr. 
Alley  troth  he  would,  and  the  veins  of  his  heart 
with  it,  to  one  of  the  name  ; "  and  immediately  he 
hallooed  to  a  strapping  youth,  who  popped  up  his 
head  from  out  a  potato  pit,  and  commanded  him 
forthwith  to  bring  "  Spanker"  from  the  plough. 

Upon  this,  Mrs.  Byrne,  the  worthy  man's  mother, 
a  venerable-looking  old  crone,  withered  and  wrinkled, 
but  whose  jet-black  eyes  glittered  and  glimmered 
from  beneath  her  shaggy  brows,  exclaimed — 

"  God  bless  you,  Matty !  lave  Spanker  alone, 
and  take  Jude — Spanker  '11  spill  ye  intirely." 

"  Mother,  hould  yer  whisht  and  mind  the  paytees. 
Sure  ye  know  Jude's  knees  are  broke  and  her  hind 
leg  splintered  with  kicking ;  barrin'  that,  she's  the 
finest  baste  in  the  counthry." 

"  Take  Lilly,  then,"  persisted  the  old  lady. 

"  I  think  ye  might  turn  yer  tongue  and  say  Miss 
Lilly,  considerin'  whose  daughter  she  is,"  retorted 
Matty. 

"  The  divil  fetch  me  before  I  say  Miss  to  a  horse," 
continued  Mrs.  Byrne,  "  only  this  I  will  say,  though 
you  are  making  purty  faces  at  me  behind  the  door, 
that  if  you  put  Spanker  under  a  jaunting  car,  he'll 
make  it  jaunt,  that's  all." 

"  Mother  dear,  hould  yer  tongue,  and  I'll  bring 
ye  a  quarter  of  tea  from  Taghmon.  What  ^.Q  you 
know  about  Spanker  ?  Didn't  he  go  under  a  car 
from  this  to  Ross  and  back  in  six  hours,  and  never 


1 8  IRISH   LIFE  AND   CHARACTER 

turned  into  a  ditch  or  a  haporth  but  onct,  and  that 
was  when  he  backed  off  Wellington  Bridge  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  wasn't  Spanker,"  persisted  the  crone. 

"  Well,  'twas  his  sister,"  replied  Matty  :  "  all  the 
same — the  same  flesh  and  blood — they're  as  like  as 
two  peas ;  only  Spanker  has  a  dale  more  sperit." 

The  old  woman  beckoned  me  aside.  "  Ma'am 
dear,  for  God's  sake  don't  let  him  get  down  at  any 
of  the  houses  to  have  drink.  He  has  been  on  the 
batter  these  ten  days.  Sorra  a  better  boy  in  the 
counthry  when  the  drink's  not  in  him  ;  but  when  it 
is,  he's  worse  than  a  troop  o'  horse,  and  more  roar- 
ing and  dangerous  than  a  score  of  mad  bulls." 

"  But  our  friend's  servant  will  drive." 

"  Och,  musha,  don't  attempt  it ;  Spanker  wouldn't 
let  man  or  baste  drive  him,  barrin'  Matty." 

An  agreeable  position  ! — the  prospect  of  being 
dashed  to  pieces  by  a  mad  Irish  horse,  or  upset  by 
a  wild  Irish  driver !  There  was  no  help  for  it. 

The  shower  was  over ;  "  the  valley  lay  smiling 
before  us."  Michael  and  the  car  had  arrived  ;  the 
luggage,  which  was  piled  up  in  what  they  called 
— just  then  very  appropriately — the  well,  soaked 
through.  Spanker,  a  bright  bay,  bony  horse,  with 
an  exceedingly  quick  eye,  stood  meek  and  quiet 
enough  at  the  door.  I  resumed  my  seat,  and  looked 
on  the  beautiful  prospect,  which,  as  the  road  was 
tolerably  good,  I  was  enabled  to  enjoy.  To  the 
right  stretched  St.  George's  Channel,  blue  as  the 
heavens  that  overshadowed  it ;  and  sleeping  calmly 
in  its  waters  lay  the  Saltee  Islands,  smiling  and 


THE  JAUNTING  CAR  ig 

gentle,  as  if  no  treacherous  rock  sentinelled  their 
shores.  Nearer  to  the  land,  rich  in  many-tinted 
cornfields,  and  bordered  by  soft  green  meadows, 
stretched  far  and  away  the  island  of  Bannow — 
my  dear  native  home ;  and  in  a  glen  to  the  left 
rose  high  the  arches  and  turrets  of  Tintern 
Abbey.  So  enchanting  was  the  prospect  that 
we  had  almost  passed  unnoticed  the  pretty  village 
of  Saltmills — a  miracle  of  cleanliness  and  com- 
fort. Roses,  vying  with  ambitious  honeysuckles, 
clambered  to  the  roofs  of  every  cottage — few 
pigs — no  dirty  children — no  dunghills — all  as 
well  ordered  to  the  eye  as  in  dear  England, 
and  far,  far  more  picturesque.  The  handsome 
peasants,  in  bright  red  waistcoats  and  slouched 
straw  hats,  confined  beneath  the  chin  by  a  broad 
black  riband,  looking  animated  and  intelligent, 
and  withal  so  polite,  so  naturally  courteous. 
Then  the  shy,  modest  maidens — rosy,  awkward, 
and  blushing;  totally  deficient  in  that  delicacy 
of  form  and  self-possession  which  distinguishes 
the  girls  of  my  adopted  country,  and  yet  so 
Noraish  (if  I  may  be  permitted  to  coin  a  word), 
curtseying  and  smiling,  and  exchanging  glances, 
and  even  innocent  jests,  with  the  few  travellers  who 
pass  their  way — and  yet  all  with  such  pure  modesty 
and  genuine  good-nature  that  it  is  impossible  to 
misunderstand  either  them  or  their  motives. 

"  Master  Byrne,"  I  inquired,  "  is  your  landlord 
resident  here  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  God,  ma'am  !  " 


20  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  Indeed  :  who  is  your  agent,  then  ?  " 

"  A  born  gentleman — God's  fresh  blessing  be 
about  him !  As  long  as  he  is  over  us,  we'll  make 
a  free  present  of  the  landlord  to  the  English — and 
much  good  may  he  do  them  !  " 

At  this  moment  Spanker  made  a  dead  stop 
opposite  the  door  of  a  small  public-house. 

"  Make  the  horse  go  on,"  said  our  friend,  in  a 
cold,  determined  tone.  Byrne  looked  round  at 
him  precisely  with  the  expression  of  a  dog  when 
disappointed  of  a  long-expected  bone. 

"  He  has  a  laning  this  way,"  he  replied. 

"I  fear,  Byrne,  you  go  there  more  than  once 
a  week." 

"  Sometimes  I  do,  my  lady." 

"  Every  day,  Byrne  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  intirely,  ma'am  dear." 

"  Twice  a  day,  Byrne  ?  " 

"  Faith,  ma'am,  if  I  do,  it's  Spanker's  fault,  and 
not  mine.  When  I  gets  on  his  back,  thinking  a 
trifle  of  exercise  would  do  him  good,  as  sure  as 
fate  he  makes  for  the  public — and  no  mistake." 

"  Believe  me,  it  is  a  ruinous  habit." 

"  No  disputin'  it,  my  lady ;  but  ruin  has  followed 
ould  Ireland  so  long  that  it  would  be  heart- 
breakin'  to  part  company  now."  We  were  at  the 
commencement  of  another  hill.  "  I  must  trouble 
ye  all  to  get  off,"  said  Byrne.  "It  would  take 
more  wit  than  would  reach  from  this  to  Cape 
Clear  to  make  Spanker  go  either  up  or  down  such 
a  hill  as  that  with  anybody  behind  him." 


THE  JAUNTING   CAR  21 

We  submitted  to  necessity,  and  walked. 

"  Byrne,"  inquired  our  friend, — who  thought  it 
high  time  that  the  driver  as  well  as  the  horse  should 
be  "  trotted  out," — "  what  pretty  blunder  was  that 
you  made  about  the  books  Miss  Caroline  told  you 
to  bring  from  the  Waterford  circulating  library  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  tread  on  my  corns  before  the  English 
quality  intirely,  masther,  honey  !  " 

"  Very  well,  Byrne ;  they  will  certainly  hear  the 
story  in  Bannow." 

"  Then  I  may  as  well  tell  it  at  onct,"  said  Matty. 
"  And  sure  the  mistake  was  all  on  her  side ;  for  I'll  go 
bail  what  I  brought  her  was  more  value  than  what 
she  wanted. — '  Any  commands,  miss,  for  Wather- 
ford  ? '  says  I.  '  Yes,'  says  she  ;  '  go  to  the  library, 
and  bring  me  Hogg's  Tales ;  I  want  them  very 
much.'  '  To  the  library  to  fetch  hogs'  tails ! ' 
says  I.  '  That's  a  quare  place  to  get  them.'  '  Not 
at  all,'  says  she :  '  at  the  English  library.  Where 
else  would  you  get  Hogg's  Tales'}'  'Oh,  very 
well,  miss,'  says  I ;  'as  it's  the  English  library, 
I  suppose  they  keep  all  sortings  there.'  '  To  be 
sure  they  do,'  says  she.  '  You  won't  forget  ? '  Did 
I  ever  forget  anything  you  bid  me?'  says  I. 
'  When  I  do,'  says  I,  'it'll  be  time  enough  for  you 
to  be  backbiting  me,'  says  I ;  '  which  is  a  thing  no 
young  lady  ought  to  do  to  a  dacent  man.'  And 
off  I  went  in  a  huff.  Well,  the  bustle  of  the  town 
and  one  thing  or  another  bothered  me  so,  that  I 
forgot  where  she  said  I  was  to  get  the  hogs'  tails ; 
so  I  walked  off  to  the  shambles,  and  hunted  every 


22  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

stall  in  the  place,  but  never  a  man  there  would 
cut  off  the  tail  of  his  pig  for  me,  because  they 
all  said  the  tail  was  the  beauty  of  the  baste.  So, 
whin  I  couldn't  get  the  tails,  I  bought  two  of  the 
prettiest  bacon  faces  you  ever  saw,  thinking  they'd 
do  for  Miss  Car'line  as  well  as  the  hogs'  tails  !  And 
to  be  sure  the  laugh  they  riz  agin  me,  for  it  turned 
out  that  what  she  wanted  was  a  story-book,  written 
by  one  Mister  Hogg — and  sure  that's  a  queer  name 
for  a  Christian !  You  may  get  on  the  car  now, 
ma'am  dear.  Spanker,  stand  still,  will  ye  ?  Up 
wid  ye  now,  while  he's  picking  Jimy  Rape's  barley 
through  that  hole  in  the  hedge ;  for  if  he  knowed 
you  were  getting  up,  all  the  saints  in  the  calendar 
wouldn't  hold  him." 

Another  mile  or  two  of  bad  road — not  powder 
pavement,  however,  but  an  odd  jumbling  together 
of  sand  and  stones  upon  a  foundation  which  had 
never  been  properly  levelled.  Our  driver  com- 
menced chattering  at  a  great  rate.  The  horse 
either  could  not  or  would  not  increase  his  speed 
beyond  a  walk ;  and  to  the  oft-repeated  question 
of  "  How  far  are  we  from  Bannow  now  ? "  the 
changes  were  rung  as  follows  :  "  Near  upon  four 
miles." — "  Three  miles  and  a  perch." — "  Four  miles 
good." — "Whatever  you  may  think,  the  baste 
counts  it  four  miles  and  a  quarter."  And  once, 
when  I  inquired  of  a  smith  who  had  left  his  iron 
cooling  at  the  door  of  his  forge  to  run  and  look  at 
us,  he  replied,  after  the  true  Irish  fashion,  "  Why, 
thin,  is  it  to  Bannow  ye're  going  ?  " 


THE  JAUNTING   CAR  23 

They  certainly  are  the  most  amusing  and  the  most 
provoking  people  in  the  whole  world.  My  patience 
began  to  ebb.  I  think — I  do  not  mind  confessing 
it  now — but  I  do  think  I  was  getting  out  of  humour. 
I  was  fatigued  beyond  the  power  of  saying  what 
fatigue  was.  The  evening  clouds  were  overshadow- 
ing us,  and  the  road  looking  dreary,  and  the  cabins 
very  unlike  the  sweet  cottages  at  Saltmills. 

"  How  far  is  it  as  the  crow  flies  from  Ballyhay 
to  Bannow  ?  " 

"  About  three  miles." 

"  And  by  your  road  ?  " 

"  Faith,  ma'am  dear,  I  wouldn't  say  but  it  is 
eleven." 

"  One  would  think  you  delighted  in  making  long 
instead  of  short  roads." 

"  So  we  do — that  is,  the  county  does.  The  longer 
the  road  the  longer  the  job — the  longer  the  job 
the  more  money  for  the  job-makers." 

Our  friend  asked  Mr.  Byrne  if  he  had  been  at 
the  last  election  ? 

"  Sure  was  I :  and  if  the  horse  was  in  a  good 
humour,  I'd  make  time  to  tell  the  lady  how  below 
there  at  Nelson's  bridge  a  pack  of  rascals  wanted 
to  bury  me  under  it  for  a  monument  (the  bridge, 
I  mean);  but  I  had  my  revenge  out  of  them  (the 
ringleader).  I  met  him  whin  Andy  Capel  was 
with  me,  and  a  pick-and-span  new  hatchet  in  his 
hand — and  I  riz  up  a  discourse  with  him,  and  con- 
tradicted him  twice,  which  he  couldn't  abide ;  so 
he  gave  me  the  lie,  which  was  all  I  wanted  for  an 


24  IRISH  LIFE  AND   CHARACTER 

excuse  to  knock  him  dead  in  the  ditch  with  Andy's 
new  hatchet.  Oh,  don't  look  frightened,  lady 
jewel ;  'twasn't  with  the  sharp  end  I  hit  him.  He 
wasn't  to  say  hurt,  only  fractioned  a  little.  He'll 
not  give  me  the  lie  again  in  a  hurry,  that's  all." 

Suddenly  the  horse  made  a  dead  stop.  "  What 
a  vicious  brute  it  is  ! "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Ah,  now,"  says  Byrne,  turning  to  me  with  no 
gentle  countenance,  "if  you  wasn't  every  inch  a 
lady,  I'd  tell  that  it  was  very  cruel  to  call  that  sin- 
sible  baste  a  vicious  brute.  He  has  come  a'most 
the  whole  road  wid  ye  without  a  kick  or  a  stumble 
to  signify,  or  a  stoppage,  or  anything  but  the 
heart's  blood  of  good  manners.  Didn't  I  rare  him 
from  a  foal,  trotting  at  my  knee  with  my  own 
childer  ?  and  hasn't  he  the  sense  of  a  Christian  ? 
It's  little  I  thought  a  lady  would  turn  her  tongue 
to  call  him  a  brute." 

I  wish  M'Clise,  who  has  already  immortalised 
his  name,  while  immortalising  the  humours  of  his 
countrymen,  had  seen  our  good  friend  Byrne  while 
pleading  the  merits  of  his  horse.  It  was  that 
strange  mingling  of  the  ludicrous  and  the  pathetic 
which  brings  tears  to  the  eyes  while  the  smile  is 
on  the  lip.  His  figure,  tall  and  erect,  was  drawn 
to  its  full  height ;  he  stood  with  his  arm  resting 
on  the  neck  of  his  favourite ;  and  the  picture  he 
drew  of  his  reason  for  the  affection  he  bore  the 
creature  was  perfection  :  "  Didn't  I  rare  him  from 
a  foal,  trotting  at  my  knee  with  my  own  childer  ?  " 
Spanker  might  have  knocked  me  down  after  that, 


HOME    RULE 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,  R.S.A. 


THE  JAUNTING  CAR  25 

and  I  would  not  have  called  him  a  brute  for  the 
world  ! 

"  I  believe,  ma'am,"  inquired  Matty,  after  a  pause 
occasioned  by  the  car's  jolting  so  loudly  over  a 
quantity  of  bad  road  that  it  would  have  been  im- 
possible for  us  to  hear  the  discharge  of  a  cannon, 
"  I  believe  you  have  no  such  convanient  ways  of 
travellin'  in  your  country  as  this  ?  You  are  always 
shut  up  in  coaches,  and  such  kind  of  things,  so  that 
the  fresh  air  can't  get  about  ye,  and  you  have  no 
sort  of  exercise.  The  English  people  as  well  as  the 
English  carriages  are  mighty  asy-going :  there's 
no  such  thing  as  a  post-chay  used  this  side  o'  the 
country  on  account  of  the  cars." 

The  Irish  are  very  cunning;  one  glance  at  my 
countenance  convinced  Matty  that  I  was  not  of  his 
opinion,  and  he  immediately  tacked  about. 

"  But  to  be  sure  they  have  a  mighty  purty  way 
of  building  their  houses ;  and  such  powers  of  fine 
cattle.  I  had  a  masther  onct,  who  had  two  beauti- 
ful English  horses,  and  he  wanted  a  careful  man  to 
drive  them.  He  was  a  mighty  pleasant  gintleman — 
the  sort  of  masther  would  knock  a  man  down  for 
the  least  thing  in  the  world — and  so  good-hearted 
when  the  passion  was  over.  Well,  there  was  as 
many  as  fifteen  afther  the  place,  and  the  first  that 
wint  up  to  him,  '  Well,  my  man,'  says  he,  '  how 
near  the  edge  of  a  precipice  would  you  undertake 
to  drive  my  carriage?'  So  the  boy  considered, 
and  he  says,  says  he,  'Within  a  foot,  plaze  yer 
honour,  and  no  harm.' — '  Very  well,'  says  he, '  go 


26  IRISH   LIFE   AND   CHARACTER 

down,  and  I'll  give  ye  yer  answer  by  and  by.'  So 
the  next  came  up,  and  said  he'd  be  bound  to  carry 
'em  within  half  a  foot ;  and  the  next  said  six 
inches;  and  another — a  dandified  chap  intirely — 
was  so  mighty  nice  that  he  would  drive  it  within 
'  three  inches  and  a  half,  he'd  go  bail.'  Well,  at 
last  my  turn  came,  and  when  his  honour  asked  me 
how  nigh  I  would  drive  his  carriage  to  a  precipice, 
I  said,  says  I,  '  Plaze  yer  honour,  Fd  keep  as  far  off 
it  as  I  could'  '  Very  well,  Misther  Byrne,'  says  he, 
'you're  my  coachman,'  says  he.  Och,  the  roar 
there  was  in  the  kitchen  whin  I  wint  down  and 
tould  the  joke !  Well,  I  was  there  better  nor  two 
years,  and  at  the  end  I  lost  it  through  a  little 
mistake.  I  was  drowsy  one  night  coming  home, 
and  faith  the  horses  had  a  spite  to  me,  on  account 
of  my  counthry,  and  they  took  a  wrong  turn,  and 
stuck  fast  in  a  gap.  And  sure  it's  rewarded  I  ought 
to  have  been  instead  of  punished,  for  sorra  a  one 
but  myself  would  ever  have  got  the  horses  and 
carriage  out  of  the  gap  without  a  scratch  or  a  brack 
upon  them  ;  but  there's  no  justice  in  the  world  ! " 

As  if  in  illustration  of  his  last  sentence,  Byrne 
gave  Spanker  a  smart  tap  with  the  whip,  which 
the  horse  resented  immediately,  and  began  to 
plunge  and  kick  at  a  most  furious  rate.  How 
anxiously  did  I  long  for  the  termination  of  my 
journey  !  What  visions  of  well-stuffed  pillows  and 
comfortable  cushions  came  upon  me.  I  thought 
what  an  exquisite  figure  we  should  cut  on  this 
broken  "  shandrumdandy,"  horse,  coachman,  and 


THE  JAUNTING   CAR  27 

all,  about  six  o'clock,  in  the  drive  at  Hyde  Park, 
in  the  merry  month  of  May.  I  began  to  make  up 
my  mind  that  the  time  of  my  sojourn  in  this  poor 
country  would  be  one  of  extreme  discomfort ;  the 
road  at  that  particular  point  afforded  no  resting- 
place  for  hope  or  sentiment — dark  and  dirty 
hovels,  fields  stretching  far  and  away,  covered  with 
that  yellow  pestilence  the  plants  and  blossoms  of 
the  bouclauns,  that  devour  the  strength  of  the 
earth.  Yet  to  confess  the  truth,  the  county  of 
Wexford,  more  particularly  that  portion  of  it  to 
which  I  was  journeying,  and  which  is  advantage- 
ously known,  through  more  than  one  channel,  to 
the  English  public,  affords  but  comparatively  few 
instances  of  Irish  poverty  and  Irish  crime;  and 
the  shadows  passed  from  me  as  we  came  in  sight 
of  the  venerable  castles  of  Clomines,  and  of  the 
hospitable  and  beautiful  country-seats  which  still 
abound  in  the  neighbourhood.  How  sweet,  yet 
how  sad,  are  the  records  of  the  past ! — the  many 
years  I  had  spent  in  dear  England  were  but  as 
a  single  week — a  month — a  year  at  most.  Every 
rock,  every  tree  I  recognised — every  house,  every 
turn  of  the  road.  The  changes  effected  by  time  and 
cultivation  appeared  as  nought. 

While  my  'heart  felt  swelling  within  me,  a  sad 
train  of  thought  was  broken  by  our  driver  exclaim- 
ing to  one  of  my  companions — 

"What  did  you  say,  sir?" 

"  I  was  observing,"  was  the  reply,  "  what  you  can 
know  little  about,  Matty :  that  it  is  supposed  the 


28  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

lost  books  of  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene  are  still  in 
Ireland." 

Byrne  cast  a  contemptuous  look  upon  the  gentle- 
man, as  well  as  to  say,  "  Maybe  I  don't  know 
indeed ! "  then,  with  a  changed  expression  of 
countenance,  while  with  his  whip  he  pointed 
exultingly  to  a  neat,  pretty  cottage  whose  white 
chimneys  peered  above  the  trees  which  clustered 
round  it,  he  replied — 

"  There's  the  man  that  has  them  ! " 

"  What ! "  exclaimed  my  companion,  in  natural 
astonishment,  ''do  you  mean  that  the  man  who 
lives  in  that  cottage  possesses  the  lost  books  of 
Spenser's  Faerie  Queene  ?  " 

"Faith,  I  do — mane  what  I  say;  the  very 
books.  Every  book  that's  printed  at  all  at  all, 
he  gets,  and  the  Dublin  Pinny  Magazine ;  and  a 
mighty  fine  man  he  is,  own  brother's  son  to  Father 
Goram,  with  a  power  o'  larnin'.  And  since  yer 
honour's  so  euros  about  thim  books,  shall  I  step 
down  and  say  you  want  a  sight  of  them  ?  He'll 
lend  them  to  you  with  all  the  pleasure  in  life,  I'll 
go  bail." 

At  first  the  gentlemen's  blank  look  of  disap- 
pointment was  exceedingly  amusing.  Matty's 
earnestness  had  misled  them  ;  they  forgot  for  a 
moment  that  an  Irishman  pretends  to  know  every- 
thing— that  he  is  never  at  fault ;  and  within  that 
moment,  brief  as  it  was,  visions  of  the  extreme 
splendour  with  which  the  concluding  books  of  the 
Faerie  Queene  would  burst  upon  the  reading  public 


THE  JAUNTING  CAR  29 

at  this  time  of  poetic  drought  dazzled  their 
imaginations :  even  the  mention  of  the  Dublin 
Pinny  Magazine  hardly  reduced  them  to  sober 
prose.  PooY  Byrne !  he  was  much  annoyed  at  not 
being  permitted  to  display  his  friend's  store  of 
information  to  the  "  strange  English." 

We  had  entered  upon  our  last  mile ;  we  were  in 
the  "  charmed  district,"  where  the  benefits  arising 
from  resident  landlords,  and  the  advantages  ol 
education  and  cleanliness,  are  too  evident  to  be  for 
a  moment  questioned.  The  roads  were  smooth 
and  level ;  plantations  fringed  the  highways ;  the 
cottages  had  severally  obtained  premiums  for 
superior  cleanliness  and  good  order  from  the 
Agricultural  Society;  there  were  neither  beggars 
nor  pigs  to  annoy  the  wayfarer;  and  dozens  of 
well-fed,  well-clad  peasantry  grouped  at  each 
other's  doors,  or  sung  and  chatted  beneath  the 
shadow  of  their  own  trees  and  in  the  perfume  of 
their  own  gardens.  Many  who  had  heard  that  I 
was  coming  pressed  forward  with  tears  and  kindly 
greetings ;  and  the  opinion  was  unanimous  that  I 
wasn't  like  the  child  who  had  gone  away,  but 
I  was  wonderfully  like  some  who  are  even  yet 
unforgotten,  whose  good  deeds,  like  the  essence 
of  the  flower,  have  outlived  death — who  are  still 
spoken  of  with  mingled  tears  and  blessings  as  the 
friends  of  the  poor.  The  tide  of  Irish  affection 
was  flowing  rapidly.  In  such  mood,  and  under 
such  excitement,  would  I  desire  the  Irish  to  be 
seen  by  strangers. 


3O  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

Poor  Spanker  had  climbed  his  last  hill,  and 
stood  panting  at  the  summit.  The  sun  had  sunk 
behind  the  old  church  of  Bannow,  and  steeped  the 
ocean  in  a  flood  of  golden  light.  What  had  once 
been,  and  still  is  called,  the  Moor,  lay  beneath  our 
feet,  gemmed  with  neat  and  tranquil  cottages, 
inhabited  by  contented  and  cheerful  inmates.  In 
the  background  rose  the  mountain  of  Forth,  cele- 
brated in  the  history  of  the  Irish  Rebellion ;  and 
somewhat  in  the  shadow  of  the  windmill  which 
crowns  the  hill  stood  a  tall,  picturesque  figure,  his 
hands  folded  and  resting  on  the  top  of  his  staff,  and 
a  pretty  little  sylph-like  girl,  of  about  five  or  six 
years  old,  clinging  to  the  skirt  of  his  coat,  which 
was  belted  round  his  waist  by  a  leather  belt. 

"  I'd  be  mighty  grateful  to  ye,  ma'am,  if  ye'd 
walk  down  this  bit  of  a  hill.  Ye  seem  to  know 
right  well  the  ould  place,  and  can't  mistake  it ; 
and  I'll  lade  the  baste  down.  It's  small  throuble, 
I'm  thinking,  to  ye  to  be  done  with  the  jaunting 
car  ? "  said  Matty  Byrne. 

He  was  very  right :  the  dwelling  where  I  had 
passed  my  early  days  was  in  my  sight ;  I  felt  as 
if  I  could  have  pressed  unto  my  heart  every  stone 
of  those  old  walls,  every  leaf  of  those  dear  trees. 
The  old  man,  who  I  now  saw  was  blind,  advanced 
into  our  path.  I  thought  I  remembered  the 
features.  I  stopped ;  he  paused  also,  and  took  off 
his  hat.  I  knew  him  then ;  I  remembered  him  as 
a  true  and  faithful  servant  of  my  family. 

"  Is  your  name  Furlong?  " 


THE  JAUNTING  CAR  31 

In  an  instant  the  staff  dropped  from  his  hands, 
which  he  clasped  together.  Tears  burst  from  his 
poor  sightless  eyes. 

"  Sure  it  is,"  he  replied.  "  God  bless  you  for 
remembering  me!  If  you  hadn't  known  me,  I'd 
never  have  told  you  who  I  was.  I  can't  see  how 
tall  yer  grown ;  but  yer  voice  is  higher  than  it 
used  to  be.  Oh !  the  sound  of  it  rises  my  spirit 
up  to  the  memory  of  the  good  ould  times.  God 
be  thanked,  I  hear  it  once  more !  Sure  I'm  gone 
stone-blind:  but  maybe  so  best;  for  I  can't  see 
the  throuble  that's  come  upon  some  who  I  thought 
war  above  throuble." 

There  was  so  much  feeling  in  this  salutation 
that  it  was  more  than  I  could  bear.  I  was  glad 
to  take  refuge,  and  as  I  hoped  for  the  last  time, 
on  the  outside  jaunting  car. 

He  lived  in  a  cottage  by  the  highway  leading 
to  the  old  church,  and  apologised  for  the  want  of 
neatness  in  the  exterior  of  his  dwelling :  "  It  isn't 
my  own  house  at  all ;  the  neighbours  would  build 
me  one  if  I  had  the  bit  of  land.  The  gentry's  very 
good,  they  can't  give  to  all ;  but  maybe  the  great 
landlord  will  one  day  look  with  pity  upon  me,  and 
give  the  bit  of  ground  to  blind  Furlong  as  he  did 
to  blind  Brien,"  was  his  unrepining  observation. 

It  was,  however,  on  a  subsequent  visit  that  a 
communication  of  vast  import  was  made  to  me. 
I  will  finish  my  sketch  by  relating  to  my  readers 
the  story  of  the  old  man,  and  the  discovery  to 
which  it  led. 


32  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  What  I  want  most  to  say  to  your  honour  is 
this,"  he  observed :  "  would  you  be  plazed  just  to 
take  my  eldest  daughter  Nora  from  me,  and  bring 
her  up,  afther  yer  own  fashion,  to  be  an  English- 
woman. My  heart  isn't  very  asy  about  her  here — 
though  she's  a  good  girl — and  I'd  be  very  glad 
she  was  out  of  the  counthry." 

Nora  was  summoned  from  an  inner  room  to 
undergo  a  personal  scrutiny.  She  came  forth  with 
her  knitting  on  her  fingers  and  her  face  steeped 
in  blushes.  I  had  seldom  seen  a  creature  more 
lovely;  yet  her  beauty  was  of  that  peculiar 
character  which  neither  painter  nor  author  can 
well  describe — resembling  a  field-violet  more 
nearly  than  aught  else,  the  charm  of  which  consists 
partly  in  its  perfume,  partly  in  its  colour,  but 
chiefly  in  the  modesty  of  its  aspect  and  bearing. 

My  seat  was  opposite  a  little  window  over- 
shadowed by  an  alder  tree.  One  of  the  panes  was 
broken,  and  a  portion  of  a  dilapidated  hat  had 
been  thrust  into  the  aperture.  As  the  blind  father 
discoursed  upon  what  the  pretty  Nora  might, 
could,  would,  and  should  do,  I  perceived  the  hat 
move,  at  first  gently,  and  finally  drop  to  the 
ground.  I  suspected  that  this  was  occasioned  by 
some  one  outside  who  wanted  to  hear  what  was 
going  forward  within.  The  slight  noise  arrested 
Furlong's  attention,  and  Nora's  blushes  deepened 
when  he  inquired  what  it  was. 

"  The  cat,  father,"  she  replied,  "  is  iver  after  the 
bits  o'  birdeens  that  build  in  the  tree." 


THE  JAUNTING  CAR  33 

I  thought  Furlong  looked  as  if  he  did  not  quite 
believe  her ;  and  while  he  expatiated  upon  the 
maid's  good  qualities,  and  the  extraordinary 
benefits  I  should  derive  from  confiding  in  Irish 
servants,  1  kept  my  eye  fixed  on  the  window. 
The  poor  fellow  was  so  earnest,  so  anxious  I 
should  take  his  daughter,  that  I  hardly  knew  how 
to  refuse, — it  is  very  difficult  to  say  "  No," — and  all 
the  while  there  stood  Nora,  looking  so  pretty  and 
graceful  that  I  was  fairly  at  fault,  when,  just  at  the 
moment,  the  face  of  a  singularly  handsome  youth 
peeped  into  the  window,  and  was  instantly  with- 
drawn. The  motion,  though  slighter  than  before, 
attracted  the  father's  notice,  and  again  he  demanded 
what  occasioned  the  noise.  Nora  saw  I  had  noted 
how  matters  really  were ;  she  clasped  her  hands 
and  looked  earnestly  at  me,  and  I  was  both 
annoyed  and  amused  by  the  extreme  readiness  of 
her  reply — 

"  The  mottled  hen  would  never  lay  an  egg  but  in 
the  thatch,  and  had  just  flown  up." 

I  looked  very  grave,  and  Nora  saw  I  was  dis- 
pleased. A  few  minutes  afterwards  I  left  the 
cottage,  but  had  not  gone  far  before  I  perceived 
the  very  youth,  leaning  over  the  parapet  of  a 
bridge,  industriously  employed  in  picking  out 
fragments  of  mortar  and  tufts  of  the  pretty 
maidenhair  that  crept  amid  the  stones,  and 
throwing  them  into  the  stream  beneath.  As  I 
drew  nearer  he  removed  his  hat,  and  making  an 
exceedingly  awkward  bow,  while  his  blushes  were 
3 


34  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

as  deep  almost  as  the  cunning  Nora's,  he  in- 
quired— 

"  If  I  wanted  a  boy  in  London  to  look  afther  the 
farm — if  I  did — he'd  go  to  the  world's  end  to  sarve 
me." 

I  told  him  I  had  not  the  good  fortune  to  possess 
a  farm,  and  consequently  did  not  need  his  services. 

"  God  bless  you,  ma'am  dear,  whether  or  no ! 
but  I  hope  you're  not  going  to  take  Norry  away 
from  us.  She'd  never  be  any  use  in  life  to  you — 
she's  not  up  to  the  English  ways.  Her  father 
thinks  she  is — but  she  is  not.  She'd  never  do  you 
any  good." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  I  replied,  somewhat 
maliciously,  "  in  thinking  her  exactly  what  you 
say — a  girl  who  will  never  do  any  good." 

"  Oh,  blessed  Virgin  ! "  he  exclaimed,  his  entire 
countenance  expressing  astonishment  and  dis- 
pleasure, "  I  never  said  that  of  Norry.  She  that's 
been  the  comfort  to  her  mother,  the  hands  and 
eyes  of  her  whole  family — she  that  her  poor  blind 
father  turned  aginst.  And  for  what  ? — just  because 
she'd  a  heart  with  feeling  in  it.  Oh,  ma'am  dear  ! 
if  ever  you  war  in  love  yourself — which,  in  course, 
you  war — think  of  poor  Norry  !  "  This  argument 
was  unanswerable  ;  and  the  young  man  followed  it 
up  with  the  "  story  of  his  love,"  in  a  strain  of  eloquence 
and  fervour  which  proved  his  sincerity.  "  I  am  as 
good  as  her  in  the  way  of  family,"  he  continued, 
"  and  as  to  her  father  talking  about  her  being  too 
young,  her  mother  was  younger  by  seven  months 


THE  JAUNTING   CAR  35 

when  she  married.  And  hav'n't  I  " — and  he  stood 
firmly  on  the  ground,  and  stretched  his  long  mus- 
cular arms  upwards  as  he  spoke — "  harfrit  1  these 
four  bones  to  work  for  her  ?  And  if  he  wants  her 
to  travel,  why,  we'll  go  to  America,  and  never  be 
behoulden  to  anything  or  any  one  but  ourselves. 
God  is  good !  and  the  world's  wide  enough  to 
hould  all  the  people — if  they'd  accommodate  each 
other ;  but  as  to  saying  Norry  would  do  no  good, 
you  mistook  me,  ma'am,  intirely.  She's  a  good 
and  a  blessing  to  every  one  ;  only,  I  think  some- 
how she  wouldn't  suit  the  English,  she's  too  lifey 
and  not  used  to  seriousness." 

Here  was  a  love  affair!  The  same  evening, 
as  I  was  meditating  upon  the  ouvert  opposition  of 
the  Irish  to  the  discipline  of  Malthus,  Nora,  with 
streaming  eyes,  tapped  gently  at  the  window  of 
my  dressing-room. 

"  I  thought,  lady  dear,"  she  said,  after  many  pre- 
fatory hems,  "  I  might  as  well  insense  you  into 
the  rights  of  it ;  for  I  saw  you  thought  bad  o'  me 
for  the  bit  of  a  lie  I  tould  about  the  windy.  Well, 
you  see,  all  my  life  I've  had  nothing  but  throuble. 
The  darkness  came  on  my  father  before  I  was  nine 
years  old,  and  he  lost  his  sweet  temper  along  with 
the  light,  and  my  mother's  heart  would  have  been 
broken  with  the  crossness,  only  I  come  between  her 
and  it.  Well,  I  used  to  lead  him  about  all  day,  and 
nurse  the  children  all  night,  with  maybe  not  a  shoe  to 
my  foot ;  but  the  heart  was  always  light  within  me 
for  all  that,  and  of  a  sunny  Sunday,  Jerry  (that's 


36  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

the  boy's  name),  though  he  was  only  a  bit  of  a  boy 
then,  use  to  lend  me  his  shoes  that  I  might  go 
dacent  to  Mass.  "  And  at  last,"  he  says, '  Norry,  I 
had  a  mind  for  the  sea,  but  I'll  not  go — I'll  be  a 
shoemaker,  as  my  father  was  before  me,  and  then 
you  shall  never  want  shoes.'  Well,  out  of  that  the 
kindness  grew,  and  my  father  knew  it,  but  never 
said  a  word  aginst  it  until  lately,  when  the  cross- 
ness overcame  him  intirely ;  and  then  he  wanted 
to  send  me  with  you,  my  lady,  which  I'd  have  been 
proud  and  happy  of,  only  for  Jerry,  my  lady. 
Poor  boy,  he'd  take  on  with  the  lowness  of  spirits 
— so  he  would  ! " 

"  Has  he  any  way  of  supporting  you  if  you  were 
married  ? " 

"  Supporting  !  Oh,  sure  two  together  wouldn't  eat 
more  than  two  by  themselves ;  it's  the  one  expense, 
married  or  single.  Besides,  he  has  a  trade — and  if 
he  could  get  any  work " 

This  "if"  appeared  to  me  of  much  importance, 
and  I  was  foolish  enough  to  think  of  reasoning  with 
a  young  girl  in  love. 

"  What  are  you  to  do  if  he  were  unable  to  get 
any  ?  " 

"We  could  only  do  as  we  did  before,"  replied 
Nora,  rolling  up  the  corner  of  her  apron. 

"  But  suppose  you  had  a  parcel  of  children  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  would  be  a  long  time  first." 

"  But,  again,  you  would  be  in  the  midst  of 
trouble." 

"  Well,  sure  it's  only  what  I'm  used  to." 


THE  JAUNTING  CAR  37 

"  I  think  your  wisest  plan,  Nora,  will  be  to  get 
a  situation  in  some  gentleman's  family.  I  will 
speak  to  my  friends  about  you.  You  can  save  a 
little  money,  perhaps, — Jerry  might  do  the  same, 
— and  I  will  make  your  father  promise  that  then 
he  will  not  object  to  your  union." 

"  God  bless  you,  ma'am  dear — it's  all  very  true. 
You  see  Jerry  was  mighty  kind  to  me  entirely, — 
he  gave  me  this  new  handkerchief,  and  these  new 
ribands, — and  his  father  was  as  hard  upon  him  as 
my  father  was  upon  me.  So,  as  every  one  turned 
agin  us,  why,  we  took  the  more  to  each  other,  and 
— got  married  last  week  !  " 

This  is  the  universal  finale  of  Irish  love-making; 
but  I  was  unprepared  for  it.  It  electrified  me 
more  than  the  jolting  of  the  everlasting  cars  which 
jingle  along  their  highways.  The  cunning  monkey  ! 
No  wonder  Master  Jerry  should  rout  the  hat  out 
of  the  window  at  the  idea  of  his  wife's  going  to 
England — and  she  looking  so  demure  and  well- 
behaved  all  the  time.  Then  she  was  in  such 
desperate  fear  about  her  father's  displeasure,  and 
in  absolute  agony  lest  "he  should  turn  her  from 
his  door  without  a  blessing."  When  I  looked 
upon  her  exceeding  loveliness,  and  remembered  her 
youth,  my  heart  melted  at  the  knowledge  of  the 
probable  misery  she  would  have  to  undergo ;  but 
now  I  hope  better  things  for  her :  she  sailed  last 
week  with  her  handsome  husband  for  America,  and 
her  father  blest  her  and  forgave  them  both  ere  their 
departure. 


THE  BANNOW  POSTMAN 

"  He's  taking  his  own  time  this  evening,  I'll  say 
that ;  for  the  sun's  as  good  as  set,  and  no  sign  of 
him  yet.  Can  you  spy  him  out  ?  " 

"  No,  colleen ;  how  d'ye  think  my  ould  eyes  could 
see  him  whin  yours  can't  ?  But,  Anty,  honey,  ye're 
mighty  unasy  about  the  postman.  D'ye  expict  a 
new  riban',  or  a  piece  o'  tape,  or  some  sugar-candy, 
or — a  love-letther,  Anty?  Oh,  Anty,  Anty! — 
don't  blush  after  that  fashion  :  ould  as  my  eyes  are, 
I  can  see  yer  rosy  cheek  getting  quite  scarlet." 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what,  Grey  Lambert,"  replied  the 
lassie  to  the  old  man,  who  was  literally  leaning  on 
"  the  top  of  his  staff,"  under  the  shadow  of  the 
walls  of  a  singularly  fine  and  perfect  castle  of 
ancient  days,  "  I'll  jist  tell  ye,  it'll  be  long  enough 
afore  I'll  come  to  see  ye  agin,  out  o'  pure  good- 
natur,  in  yer  unchristian-like  ould  place,  if  ye  talk 
afther  that  fashion  to  a  young  cratur  like  me,  that 
niver  turned  to  the  like.  Sure,  ye're  ould  enough 
to  forget  love-letthers,  any  way." 

"  That's  true,  Anty ;  an  ould  man  of  threescore 
and  sixteen  hasn't  much  to  do  wid  what  are  called 

love-letthers.     But  maybe  there's  a  differ  betwixt 
38 


THE  BANNOW   POSTMAN  39 

love-letthers  and  letthers  o'  love ;  and  sure  there's 
one  still  that  sinds  that  last  to  his  poor  grandfather, 
and  from  beyant  the  salt  seas  too." 

"  Well,  'tis  a  comfort,  sure  enough ;  but  I  often 
wonder  that  ye  a'n't  affeard  to  stay  in  such  a  place 
as  this,  without  anything  wid  ye  but  Bang,  the  baste, 
that's  almost  as  ould  as  yourself— poor  Bang!" 
And  Bang  pushed  his  nose  into  Anty's  hand. 

There  was  something  picturesque  in  the  appear- 
ance of  the  pair  who  awaited  the  postman's 
coming — for  such  was  really  the  case.  The  young 
maiden  expected  a  lover's  letter;  the  aged  man 
hoped  for  a  remembering  token  from  a  solitary 
descendant.  "Grey  Lambert,"  as  he 'was  called, 
had  taken  up  his  abode  in  a  corner  of  the  castle 
under  whose  shadow  they  stood — the  lonely  castle 
of  Coolhull — and  no  entreaty  could  induce  him 
to  leave.  He  was  a  singular,  but  a  fine-looking, 
person  :  wore  neither  hat  nor  cap  ;  never  cut  either 
his  beard  or  hair,  which  were  purely,  perfectly 
white,  and  flowed  over  his  shoulders  and  down  his 
breast,  even  below  a  leather  girdle  that  encircled 
his  coarse  frieze  wrapping  coat ;  his  feet  were  bare ; 
his  forehead  high  and  bald ;  his  dress  clean, 
betokening  singularity,  but  not  poverty ;  and  he 
had  been  a  traveller  in  his  youth — a  sailor — a 
soldier — some  said  a  pirate ;  but  that,  I  firmly 
assert,  never  could  have  been  the  case,  for  Lambert 
was  the  gentlest  of  old  men.  Children  and  animals 
(who  seem  to  have  an  instinctive  dread  of  bad 
people)  all  loved  him ;  and  on  Sunday  evenings 


4O  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

the  village  urchins,  and  their  little  cur  dogs,  visited 
him  in  his  castle,  or  sat  at  his  feet  on  the  green 
sward,  while  he  recounted  tales  and  adventures  of 
other  lands. 

Anty  was  a  merry,  laughing,  blue-eyed  lass, 
somewhat  short,  and  without  one  good  feature  in 
her  face ;  yet  the  gipsy  was  esteemed  pretty.  It 
was  really  very  provoking — she  was  anything  but 
pretty,  and  yet  it  was  absolutely  impossible  to  look 
on  her  face  and  think  so ;  she  had  such  coaxing 
smiles,  and  that  heartfelt  charm — a  sweet,  low 
voice — "an  excellent  thing  in  woman,"  with  so 
many  "  ah,  do's,"  and  "  ah,  dont's,"  and  a  trick  of 
blushing — and  blushes,  stealing  over  a  pure  white 
skin,  are,  it  must  be  confessed,  very  agreeable 
things  to  look  upon.  Then  there  was  a  cheerfulness, 
a  joyousness  about  her  perfectly  irresistible;  at 
wake  or  pattern  she  had  all  the  best  boys  at  her 
command,  and  how  she  laughed  at  them  !  But  I 
may  affirm — now  that  she  is  not  before  me — the 
little  hussy  was  anything  but  pretty.  . 

Bang  was  certainly  a  venerable  relic  of  canine 
antiquity — tall  and  grey,  haughty  and  stately,  of 
royal  Danish  descent,  and  his  courtesies  had  an  air 
of  kingly  condescension  :  when  he  noticed  even  the 
bettermost  dogs  of  the  parish,  there  was  so  much 
aristocratic  bearing  about  the  dignified  brute  that 
they  one  and  all  shrunk  from  his  approach.  But 
he  was  faithful  to  his  master — night  and  day  by 
his  side;  and  always  paid  particular  attention  to 
Anastasia  M'Queen,  who,  strange  to  say,  was  a 


DON'T   PROVOKE   ME 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,  R.S.A. 


"...  don't  provoke  me  to  do  it : 
For  there's  girls  by  the  score 
That  loves  me — and  more  ; 

And  you'd  look  mighty  quare,  if  some  morning  you'd  meet 
My  wedding  all  marching  in  pride  down  the  street : 
Troth,  you'd  open  your  eyes, 
And  you'd  die  with  surprise, 
To  think  'twasn't  you  was  come  to  it." 

Sam  Lover. 


THE   BAN  NOW   POSTMAN  4! 

very  frequent  visitor  at  the  dilapidated  castle — nay, 
was  almost  daily  seen  trudging  towards  it,  her 
short  scarlet  cloak  meeting  the  broad  hem  of  her 
blue  stuff  petticoat,  while  the  hood  only  half 
covered  a  profusion  of  deep  nut-brown  hair  (I  feel 
it  here  a  duty  to  my  country  peasant  girls  to  say 
that  they  generally  have  long  and  most  luxuriant 
tresses,  and,  womanlike,  are  not  a  little  proud  of 
them) ;  while  from  her  well-turned  but  red  arm 
usually  hung  a  basket,  containing  such  presents  as 
a  Bannow  maiden  could  present — dried  fish,  fresh 
cockles,  delicate  butter,  barley  or  oaten  cakes,  thin 
and  curling,  or  new-laid  eggs.  She  certainly  paid 
very  great  attention  to  the  old  man,  and  he  was 
very  much  attached  to  his  lively  visitor. 

"  Maybe  it's  long  since  ye  heard  from  young 
Pat  Lambert  ?  "  she  inquired,  after  caressing  Bang. 

"  True,  love  dear ;  it  seems  long  to  one  like  me 
— a  poor  ould,  very  ould,  man.  Maybe  he's  for- 
gotten his  grandfather." 

"  No,  that  he's  never  done,  I'm  sartin  sure.  He's 
as  thrue-hearted  a  boy  as  iver  crossed  the  sea ;  that 
I  know,  and  I  take  it  very  unkind  o'  ye  to  say  he'd 
forget  you." 

"  Well,  Anty,  whin  I  write  agin  I'll  tell  him  that 
ther's  some  don't  forget  him>  any  way." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Anty,  blushing  in  good  earnest,  "  ye 
need  not  say  that :  sure,  in  a  Christian  country, 
everybody  remimbers  their  neighbour. — How  beau- 
tiful the  sea  looks,  as  if  there  niver  was  an  end 
to  it  ? " 


42  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  How  beautiful  the  sea  looks ! "  repeated  Grey 
Lambert,  smiling,  and  shaking  his  head  at  the  same 
time.  "  Well,  Anty,  I  see  ye're  an  admirer  o'  the 
beauties  of  natur.  The  sea  is  ever  beautiful  to  my 
thinking  :  whin  the  great  waves  foam  and  lash  the 
shore,  and  whin  they  toss  big  ships,  such  as  you 
niver  saw,  up  and  down  without  any  trouble  in  life 
— then  'tis  beautiful ;  and  whin  it  sleeps  under  the 
setting  sunbames,  as  it  does  now,  it  is  beautiful. 
How  well  ye  see  the  entrance  into  Watherford 
harbour  from  where  ye  stand  ! — though  a  score  o' 
miles  and  more  from  ye.  Well,  I  love  this  ould 
castle  for  the  prospect ;  but  it's  a  grand  place,  and 
now  I  niver  could  think  to  live  anywhere  else. 
The  thickness  of  the  walls  might  be  one  of  the 
world's  wonders ;  then  the  gometry  staircase,  and 
the  curious  writing  on  the  hard  stones  that  nobody 
iver  understood  yet ;  and  the  grate  oak  bames. 
The  jewil  of  a  castle,  ye  are,  my  darlint ! — to  think 
how  bravely  ye  stood  aginst  ould  Oliver,  the  black 
villain  !  Och  !  many  a  brave  heart,  many  a  bright 
eye,  many  a  smile  dancing  like  the  sunbames  on 
the  sea,  has  been  in  ye,  whin  ye  stood  with  yer 
high  walls  and  turrets  in  the  morning  light ;  but 
now  ye're  ould,  and  even  yer  stones  look  withered, 
and  the  cow  and  the  wild  goat  shelter  where  princes 
stood;  and  the  owl  screams  where  the  harp 
sounded ;  and  I,  a  poor  worm  of  the  earth,  live  to 
see  it,  whin  their  noble  bones  make  part  of  the  sod 
I  stand  on  !  " 

Lambert's  apostrophe  to  his  beloved  castle  was 


THE  BANNOW  POSTMAN  43 

lost  on  Anty,  who  eagerly  exclaimed,  "  There 
he  is — there  he  is !  Now  I'll  run  and  meet 
him,  and  see  if  he  has  got  a  letther  for  you." 
Away  she  flew,  swift  as  an  arrow,  to  meet  John 
Williams,  postman  and,  it  may  be  truly  said, 
carrier,  to  the  united  parishes  of  Bannow,  Kilkaven, 
and  Duncormuck,  for  above  thirty  years.  Even 
in  these  isolated  spots  people  cannot  do  without 
news ;  it  is  almost  necessary  to  existence.  Twice 
each  week  John  Williams  still  journeys  to  the 
nearest  post-town,  and  conveys  "  the  leading 
journal  of  Europe,"  the  Fashionable  Post,  the 
Wexford  and  Waterford  papers,  and  others,  to  the 
news-loving  inhabitants.  Honest  John  is  a  heed- 
less, good-tempered  fellow,  but  a  very  jewel  of  a 
postman.  He  had  been  originally  engaged  only 
as  a  circulating  medium  for  letters  from  Wexford 
to  Bannow;  but  he  was  either  bribed  or  coaxed, 
or  both,  into  executing  commissions  for  everybody 
who  had  commissions  to  execute.  John  Williams's 
list  was  regularly  made  out;  and  ribands,  tea, 
candles,  sugar,  books,  paper,  music,  gowns,  and 
even  caps,  garnished  his  Rosinante — for  when  his 
orders  were  many,  John  was  obliged  to  take  his 
steed.  Not  that  he  ever  ventured  to  ride  the  poor 
lame  beast,  whom  he  could  out-tire  at  any  time  ; 
but  he  walked  in  a  companionable  manner  with  it, 
in  and  out  of  Wexford — and,  in  truth,  their 
caparisons  were  most  extraordinary. 

When  Anty  met  him,  his  loose  drab  coat  was 
hardly  secured  by  a  solitary  button,  and  his  leather 


44  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

bags  dangled  over  his  shoulders;  his  "cawbeen" 
on  one  side  of  his  grey  shaggy  head,  his  scratch 
wig  on  the  other,  and  his  "  doodeen  "  serving  a 
double  purpose  —  keeping  his  nose  warm,  and 
exhilarating  his  spirits ;  the  poor  horse,  more 
fatigued  than  its  wiry  conductor,  eyeing  the  green 
straggling  hedgerows  and  the  close  turf,  and 
loitering  to  catch  a  mouthful  as  he  passed.  At 
either  side  his  neck  hung  two  blue  bandboxes, 
filled,  doubtless,  with  multifarious  finery ;  while  a 
coil  of  thick  cable,  like  a  huge  boa,  passed  over 
his  head,  and  held,  suspended,  ten  or  twelve  flats 
of  cork,  bespoke  by  the  captain  of  a  coal  vessel 
lying  at  Bannow  quay,  three  new  kites,  four 
skipping-ropes,  ten  tops,  two  bags  of  marbles,  a 
dozen  slates  (for  Master  Ben),  a  pair  of  pole 
screens  (for  the  lady  at  the  big  house),  and  some 
blankets — all,  of  course,  so  carelessly  papered 
that  they  had  more  than  half  escaped  from  their 
confinement. 

"  Good-even,  and  God  save  ye,  Mister  John ! " 
quoth  the  breathless  lass.  The  postman  was 
never  given  to  much  speaking,  and  nodded. 
"  Maybe  ye  wouldn't  have  a  bit  of  a  letther  for 
Grey  Lambert?"  John  stopped,  and  so  did  the 
horse ;  while  John  took  from  his  bag  a  long, 
narrow,  dirty-looking  letter,  presented  it,  replaced 
his  bag,  and  journeyed  on.  Anty  stopped,  and 
looked  after  him.  "John,  John,  I  want  to  speak  to 
ye."  John  again  stopped.  "  I  wanted  to  ask  ye, 
if  so  be  that  ye  found — I  mean  met — a — a — I 


THE  BANNOW   POSTMAN  45 

thought,  maybe,  ye  might  have — ah,  John  !  ye 
know  what — for  poor  Anty  ?  "  John  took  the  pipe 
from  his  mouth,  and  simply  said — 

''  Maybe  ye'd  tell  a  body  who  likes  plain  spak- 
ing  what  ye're  after  ?  " 

"  Well,  thin,  John,  have  ye  a  letther  for  me  ?  " 

"Yes.  Why  didn't  ye  ask  me  that  a  while  ago, 
and  not  give  me  the  throuble  of  taking  off  my  bag 
twice  ? " 

"  Why  didn't  you  give  it  me,  and  I  to  the  fore  ? 
Sure  ye  knew  ye  had  it." 

"  Why,  look  ye,  Anty  M'Queen,  I  have  been 
thirty  years  a  postman,  and  I  have  always  done 
what  the  back  of  the  letther  tould  me ;  and  see, 
the  direction  on  it  is:  'Anty  M'Queen,  Hill  Side, 
Bannow,  County  of  Wexford,  Ireland — post-paid 
— to  the  care  of  John  Williams,  Bannow  postman ; 
to  be  kept  till  called  for.'  Sure  it  was  no  business 
o'  mine  to  give  it  ye  till  ye  called  for  it,  or,  what 
I  consider  the  same  thing,  asked  for  it." 

Anty  took  the  letter,  and,  placing  it  in  her 
bosom,  turned  towards  the  old  castle,  to  give  to 
Grey  Lambert  his  epistle.  John  pursued  his  path, 
until  he  arrived  at  the  village  "public."  There, 
what  a  crowd  awaited  his  coming  !  "  John,  what's 
the  news  ?  " — "  John,  the  paper." — "  John — oh,  John, 
don't  mind  'em,  but  give  me  my  cap !  I  hope  it 
isn't  in  that  bandbox  that's  had  the  dance  in  the 
mud!  There — John,  honey — don't  'squeege'  it 
so! — sure  no  cap  can  bear  a  ' squeeging ! '" — 
"  John,  is  my  bonnet  come  ?  Och !  meal-a- 


46  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

murder  !  what  made  Miss  Lerady  put  an  orange 
riban'  in  my  beautiful  English  straw  ?  " — "  John, 
I  hope  ye  didn't  forget  the  tobaccy?" — "John, 
agra — the  two  ounces  o'  green  tay  for  my  granny." 
— "  John,  my  twinty-four  marbles." — "  John,  och, 
John  !  and  sure  it's  not  come  to  that  wid  ye,  that 
ye'd  forget  the  green  silk  handkerchief!" — "John," 
said  a  fine-looking  fellow,  pushing  through  the 
circle,  "John,  did  ye  get  the  thing  I  tould  ye  of?" 
John  winked,  and  from  his  waistcoat  pocket  drew 
forth  a  very  little  parcel,  wrapped  up  in  white 
paper.  The  young  man  took  it,  smiled,  and  soon 
after  there  was  a  bustle  at  the  far  window ;  for  the 
parcel  contained  a  plain  gold  ring,  which  the  saucy 
youth  was  endeavouring  to  try  on  the  finger  of 
pretty  Letty,  the  gentle  daughter  of  mine  host  of 
the  "public." — "John,  any  letthers  for  me?"  in- 
quired the  bustling  man  of  the  big  shop. — "  One, 
Darby,  very  like  a  bill." — "  Humph  ! "  said  Darby. 
— "Did  ye  bring  the  doctor's  stuff  for  father?" 
asked  -Minny  Corish.  —  "  Och !  murder-in-Irish  ! 
sure  ye're  not  afther  forgetting  the  five  yards  o'  red 
stuff,"  exclaimed  no  less  a  person  than  Mrs.  Cassidy 
herself,  "  and  I  wanting  to  quilt  it  for  a  petticoat, 
to  keep  my  ould  bones  from  freezing!" — "John," 
said  a  village  lounger,  who  expected  nothing,  and 
yet  wanted  to  say  something — "John,  why  d'ye 
wear  yer  wig  over  yer  hair  ? " — "  Why,"  replied 
John  drily,  "  sure  ye  wouldn't  have  me  wear  my 
hair  over  my  wig." — "  John,  I  take  shame  that  I 
didn't  offer  ye  this  afore,"  and  the  landlord  pre- 


THE   BANNOW   POSTMAN  47 

sented  a  large  glass  of  whisky  to  the  postman,  who 
drank  it  off,  remarking  afterwards,  "  Thrue  Parlia- 
ment, to  be  sure,"  which  raised  a  general  laugh. — 
"Come,  John,  ye're  enough  to  set  a  body  mad," 
said  fussy  Tom  Tennison,  who  was  ever  in  a  bustle 
about  something  or  other.  "  Master  Ben  has  been 
here  more  nor  an  hour,  waiting  to  rade  us  the 
news,  and  there  ye  stand,  taking  the  things  out  as 

asy  as Can't  ye  give  us  the  paper  ? "    "  No — I 

say  no — not  till  it's  yer  turn,  Mister  Fussy.  Take 
the  patthren  o'  yer  manners  from  Mister  Ben ;  see 
how  quiet  he  stands,  as  the  song  says,  'tall  and 
straight  as  a  popilar  tree,'  and  two  of  his  bran- 
new  slates  cracked  by  that  devil  of  a  horse. 
Arrah,  don't  be  bothering  me,  all  o'  ye  ;  ye  forget, 
so  ye  do,  that  I  have  five  or  six  places  to  go  to 
yet.  If  ye  taze  me  afther  this  fashion,  hang  me, 
but  ye  must  get  another  postman.  The  moment 
ye  see  me,  ye're  like  a  pack  o'  Curnel  Piggot's 
hounds  in  full  cry  afther  a  hare.  Can't  ye  larn 
patience  ?  Sure  everybody  knows  it's  a  vartue." 

John's  next  resting-place  was  the  Parsonage; 
such  a  lovely  spot — just  what  a  parsonage  ought 
to  be.  Only  look,  is  it  not  perfectly  delicious? 
That  softly  swelling  meadow,  over  which  the 
evening  mist  is  stealing,  paled  off  from  the  mossy 
lawn  that  fays  and  fairies  might  delight  to  revel 
on;  the  lowly,  yet  elegantly  thatched,  cottage; 
the  greenhouse,  the  flower  borders — did  you  ever 
see  such  splendid  flowers? — there — such  balsams 
— such  peonies — such  a  myrtle — such  roses !  roses 


48  IRISH   LIFE  AND   CHARACTER 

red,  white,  pure  white,  the  maiden's  blush,  the 
damask,  and  the  many-coloured  Lancaster,  not 
rivalling  each  other,  but  uniting  to  charm  sight 
and  smell  by  their  combined  beauty  and  fragrance. 
Ah !  there  is  Marianne  amongst  the  lilies,  fit 
model  for  a  sculptor,  alike  lovely  in  person  and 
mind.  And  the  eldest,  Henrietta,  noble  and 
dignified,  though  very  different  from  Marianne ; 
conscious  of  her  magnificent  beauty,  yet  con- 
descending and  benevolent  to  the  poorest  peasant. 
Then  Ellen,  the  youngest:  not  the  handsomest, 
but  certainly  the  most  useful;  a  perfect  Goody 
Two-shoes,  with  more  wisdom  at  fifteen  than  most 
women  at  fifty.  The  postman  is  to  them  all  a 
most  welcome  visitor.  "  Oh,  John,  is  it  you?  Do 
give  me  papa's  and  mamma's  letters." — "  Oh,  don't, 
Marianne !  "  said  the  young  Ellen.  "  Don't  take 
them  all  yourself ;  do  let  me  have  the  newspapers, 
at  least,  to  give  papa." — "  John,"  inquired  Hetta, 
"the  netting-silk,  and  the  silver  bodkin — I  hope 
you  have  chosen  a  nice  one — and  the  two  skipping- 
ropes  for  my  sisters — thank  you." — "All  right,  I 
hope,  miss  ? "  — "  Thank  you,  all  quite  right.  Will 
you  come  up  and  take  something,  John  ?  " — "  No, 
miss,  I  humbly  thank  ye,  all  the  same." — "  John, 
tell  me — have  you  got  a  letter  for  poor  Mrs. 
Clavery  ?  " — "  Yes,  miss." — "  Ah,  now  I  am  happy. 
Poor  woman,  she  will  be  so  delighted  ! " 

"  There,"  thought  John  to  himself,  as  he  passed 
on,  "  there,  that  is  what  I  call  the  true  breed  of 
the  gentry.  Such  a  born  beauty  as  that  to  think 


THE  BAN  NOW  POSTMAN  49 

of  a  poor  sorrow-struck  woman !  Ah,  the  thick 
blood  without  any  puddle,  for  ever  ! — That's  the 
sort  that  warms  the  heart." 

Mrs.  Clavery's  story  will  be  best  told  in  her  own 
words,  as  she  herself  related  it  to  the  family  at  the 
Parsonage  a  few  months  before  John  brought  her 
the  letter  that  made  Miss  Henrietta  so  happy. 

One  tranquil  evening  in  autumn,  a  pale,  delicate 
young  woman  rested  her  hand  on  the  gate  that 
opened  to  the  green  sloping  lawn  which  fronted 
the  Parsonage  house ;  uncertain  whether  or  not 
she  might  venture  to  raise  the  latch,  she  gazed 
wistfully  on  the  group  of  children  who  were  playing 
on  the  green.  Although  in  the  veriest  garb  of 
misery,  there  was  nothing  of  the  common  beggar 
in  her  appearance;  and  the  two  little  ones  who 
clung  to  her  tattered  cloak  were  better  covered 
than  their  mother.  She  carried  on  her  back  a 
young,  sickly-looking  infant,  and  its  weak  cries 
arrested  the  attention  of  the  good  pastor's  youngest 
daughter,  who  bade  her  enter,  in  that  gentle  tone 
which  speaks  of  hope  and  comfort  to  the  breaking 
heart.  How  much  is  in  a  kindly  voice!  When 
the  woman  had  partaken  of  food  and  rest,  and 
remained  a  few  days  at  the  Parsonage,  she  thus 
told  her  tale  :— 

"May  God  reward  ye! — for  ye  have  fed  the 
hungry,  and  ye  have  clothed  the  naked,  and  ye 
have  spoken  of  hope  to  her  that  thought  of  it  no 
more ;  and  ye  have  looked  like  heaven's  own 
angels  on  one  who  had  forgot  the  sight  o'  smiles. 
4 


50  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

May  God's  fresh  blessing  be  about  ye ! — may  ye 
never  want !  But  a  poor  woman's  prayer  is 
nothing ;  only  I  am  certainly  sure  the  Almighty 
will  grant  ye  a  long  life,  and  a  happy  death,  for 
your  kindness  to  one  who  was  lone  and  desolate  in 
a  could  world.  It's  little  matter  where  one  like 
me  was  born,  only  I  came  of  dacent,  honest  people, 
and  it  could  not  be  said  that  any  one  belonging  to 
me  or  mine  ever  wronged  man  or  mortal.  The  boys 
were  brave  and  just;  the  girls  well-looking  and 
virtuous — seven  of  us  under  one  roof;  but  there 
was  full  and  plinty  of  everything — more  especially 
love,  that  sweetens  all.  Well,  I  married;  and  I 
may  say  a  more  sober,  industrious  boy  never  broke 
the  world's  bread  than  my  Thomas — my  Thomas ! 
I  ask  yer  pardon,  ladies;  but  my  heart  swells 
when  I  think  that  maybe  he's  gone  to  the  God 
who  gave  him  to  me,  first  for  a  blessing,  then  for  a 
heart-trial." 

The  poor  woman  wept ;  and  the  father  of  the 
family  she  was  addressing,  adopting  the  figurative 
language  which  the  Irish  so  well  understand, 
observed,  "  The  gardener  prunes  the  vine  even  to 
bleeding,  and  suffers  the  bramble  to  grow  its  own 
way." 

"  That's  true ;  thank  ye,  sir,  for  that  sweet  word 
of  comfort,"  she  replied,  smiling  faintly.  "  It's 
happy  to  think  of  God's  care — the  only  care 
that's  over  the  poor,  though  it  seems  ungrateful  to 
say  that  to  those  who  are  so  extraordinary  kind 
to  me.  Well,  we  had  a  clane  cabin — a  milk-white 


THE   BANNOW   POSTMAN  51 

cow — a   trifle   of    poultry — two    or    three    pigs — 
indeed,  every  comfort   in   life,  according  to  our 
station,  and   thankful   we  were   for   them.     Time 
passed    as   happy  as   heart  could  wish,   and  one 
babe  came,  and  another ;  but  the  eldest  now  was 
the  third  then,  for  it  pleased  God  to  take  the  two 
first  in  a  fever ;  and  bad,  sure   enough,  was  the 
trouble,  for  my  husband  took  it,  and  there  he  lay, 
off  and  on,  for  as  good  as  four  months ;  and  then 
the  rint    got    behindhand,   and   we   were    forced 
to  sell  the  cow:  one  would  think  the  baste  had 
knowledge,  for  when  she  was  going  off  to  the  fair 
(and  by  the  same  token  it  was  my  brother-in-law's 
sister's  son  that  druv  her),  she  turned  back  and 
mowed — ay,  as  natural  as  a  child  that  was  quitting 
the  mother.     Well,  we  never  could  raise  the  price 
of  a  cow  agin,  and  that  was  a  sore  loss  to  us,  for 
God   sent  two   young  ones   the  next  time,   and 
betwixt  the  both  I  could  niver  get  a  minit  to  do 
the  bit  o'  spinning  or  knitting  that  the  landlord's 
wife  expected  as  a  yearly  compliment.     She  was 
not  a  born  lady ;  and  they're  the  worst  to  the  poor. 
Musharoon  gentry !  that  spring  up  and  buy  land, 
hand  over  head,  from  the  raale  sort,  that  are  left  in 
the  long-run  without  cross  or  coin  to  bless  them- 
selves with,  all  owing  to  their  generosity.     Well, 
to  make  up  for  that,  I  was  forced  to  give  up  some 
of  my  best  hens,  as  duty  fowl,  to  the  lady,  on 
account  that  she  praised  their  handsome  toppings. 
That  wasn't  all:  the  pigs  got  the  measles;  and 
we  might  have  sould  them  to  advantage,  but  my 


52  IRISH   LIFE   AND   CHARACTER 

husband  says,  says  he, '  Mary,  we  have  had  disease 
and  death  in  our  own  house ;  but  don't  let  us  be 
the  means  of  unwholesome  mate,  upon  no  account 
— becase  it  brings  ill-health,  and  we  to  answer  for 
it  when  nothin'  will  be  to  the  fore  but  honest  deeds 
and  the  roguish  ones,  straight  aginst  each  other, 
and  no  one  to  judge  them  but  the  Almighty — the 
ONE  who  knows  the  rights  of  all ; ' — that  was  true 
for  him.  Well,  we  might  have  got  up  agin,  for 
my  poor  Thomas  worked  like  any  negur  to  the 
full ;  but  just  after  we  had  sowed  our  little  field  of 
wheat  (it  was  almost  at  the  corner  of  the  landlord's 
park,  and  we  depinded  on  it  for  the  next  gale  day), 
nothing  could  sarve  the  landlord  but  he  must  take 
it  out  of  our  hands,  without  any  notice,  to  plant 
trees  upon.  I  went  to  my  lady,  and,  to  soften  her 
like,  took  what  was  left  of  my  poor  fowls — the 
cock  and  all — as  a  present.  She  accepted  them 
very  genteelly,  to  be  sure,  and  promised  we  should 
have  another  field  and  compensation  money.  We 
waited  and  waited,  but  no  sign  of  it.  At  last  my 
husband  made  bould  to  go  to  the  landlord  himself, 
and  tould  him  all  that  had  passed  between  the 
lady  and  me.  '  Don't  bother  me,  man/  was  the 
answer  he  made.  '  Compensation,  indeed  ! — what 
compensation  am  I  to  have  for  being  out  of  my 
rent  so  long,  the  time  ye  were  sick,  and  ye  without 
a  lase  ?  And  I  am  sartin  my  wife  never  promised 
anything  of  the  sort  to  the  woman.'  '  I  ask  yer 
pardon,  sir,'  replied  Thomas,  civil  of  course — for 
Thomas  was  always  civil  to  rich  or  poor ;  '  but  she 


THE   BANNOW   POSTMAN  53 

did,  for  my  Mary  tould  me.'  c  She  tould  you  a  lie, 
then,'  said  the  landlord ;  and  my  husband  fired  up. 
'  Sir,'  said  he,  '  if  ye  were  my  equal  you  dar'n't  say 
the  likes  o'  that  of  my  Mary ;  for  though  she's  not 
of  gentle  blood,  she's  no  liar ! '  Then  the  landlord 
called  my  husband  an  impudent  blackguard  ;  and 
Thomas  made  answer  that  he,  being  a  gentleman, 
might  call  him  what  he  pleased ;  but  that  none 
should  say  that  of  his  wife  that  she  did  not 
desarve.  However,  the  upshot  of  the  thing  was,, 
that  we  got  warning  to  quit  all  of  a  suddent :  but 
there  was  no  help  for  it ;  as  the  neighbours  said — 
true  for  them — that  Thomas  was  by  no  means  so 
strong  a  man  as  before  the  fever  ;  and  the  steward 
found  out  some  stranger  who  offered  money  down 
on  the  nail  for  the  land  that  we  had  in  such  prime 
order.  Every  one  cried  shame  on  the  landlord, 
but  sure  there's  no  justice  for  the  poor !  'Twas  a 
sorrowful  parting,  for  somehow  a  body  gets  fond 
of  the  bits  of  trees  even,  that  grow  up  under  their 
eye ;  and  I  was  near  my  lying-in,  and  the  troubles 
came  all  at  once,  and  all  we  could  get  to  shelter  us 
was  a  damp  hole  of  a  place.  My  husband  got 
plenty  of  work ;  and  though  it  wasn't  in  natur  not 
to  lament  bygone  comforts,  yet  sure  the  love  was 
to  the  good,  firm — ay,  firmer  than  ever — and  no 
blight  was  on  our  name,  nor  isn't  to  this  day — 
thank  God  for  it ! — for  nobody  breathing  can  say, 
Thomas,  or  Mary,  Clavery,  ye  owe  me  the  value 
of  a  thraneen.  Oh,  but  that's  a  fine  thing  and  a 
cheering  after  all !  Well,  the  change  of  air,  and 


54  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

the  fretting,  and  one  thing  or  other,  made  me  very 
weakly;  and  we  lost  the  fellow-twin  to  this  one. 
It  was  happy  for  the  darlint;  but  it  was  heart- 
scalding  to  see  it  peeking  and  peeking — wastin' 
and  wastin',  and  to  want  the  drop  of  wine  or  the 
morsel  of  mate  that  might  keep  it  to  be  a  blessing 
to  its  parents'  grey  hairs.  It  was  then,  just  after 
my  child's  death,  that,  to  drive  the  sorrow  from  his 
heart,  Thomas  took  a  little  to  the  drop ;  and  yet 
he  wasn't  like  other  men,  that  grow  cross  and 
fractious — he  was  always  gentle  to  me  and  the 
young  ones.  But  in  the  end  it  ruined  us,  as  it  does 
all  who  have  any  call  to  it — for  he  was  as  fine  a 
young  man,  though  I  say  it,  as  ye  could  see  in  a 
day's  walk — standing  six  feet  two  in  his  stocking 
vamps,  and  admired  for  his  beauty.  And  he  went 
to  the  next  town  to  sell  my  little  spinning,  that  I 
had  done  to  keep  the  dacent  stitch  on  the  childer ; 
and,  as  was  fated,  I  suppose,  who  should  be  there 
but  a  recruiting  sargent — and  when  the  drink's  in, 
the  wit's  out,  and  he  listed — listed! — And  the 
parting — oh,  but  I  thought  the  life  would  lave  me ! 
Sure  I  followed  him  to  the  place  of  embarkment, 
and  there  they  druv  me  from  him ;  and  I  stood  on 
the  seashore,  and  saw  him  on  the  deck  of  that 
black  ship,  his  arms  crossed  over  his  breast  like 
one  melancholy  mad;  and  it  was  long  before  I 
believed  he  was  really  gone — gone — gone ;  and 
that  there  was  no  voice  to  cheer  me — for  these  did 
nothing  but  cry  for  food.  It  was  wicked,  but  I 
wished  to  die,  for  my  heart  felt  breaking.  The 


THE   BAN  NOW   POSTMAN  55 

little  left  me  was  soon  gone.  I  was  among 
strangers  —  I  could  not  bear  to  go  to  my  own 
people  or  place,  because  I  was  more  like  a 
shame,  and  my  spirit  was  too  high  to  be  looked 
down  on.  I  have  travelled  from  parish  to  parish, 
doing  a  bit  of  work  of  any  kind  when  I  could 
get  it,  and  trusting  to  good  Christians  to  give 
something  to  the  desolate  children  when  all  else 
failed." 

"  Have  you  never  heard  from  your  husband  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir,  he  sends  his  letters  to  Watherford,  to 
the  care  of  one  I  know ;  but  I  cannot  often  hear,  the 
distance  is  so  great." 

"  Did  he  not  forward  you  money  ?  " 

"  Three  pounds  :  but  we  owed  thirty  shillings  of 
it,  betwixt  rent  for  the  last  hole  we  lived  in,  and 
two  or  three  other  matters.  I  was  overjoyed  to  be 
able  to  send  the  money,  for  the  debts  lay  heavy  on 
my  heart;  and,  to  be  sure,  the  children  wanted 
many  a  little  thing,  and  the  remainder  soon 
went." 

The  good  pastor  and  his  family  were  deeply 
interested  in  Mary  Clavery's  simple  tale;  and  on 
further  inquiry,  its  truth  was  fully  established.  It 
was  also  found  that  her  husband  was  in  a  regiment 
then  at  Jamaica,  commanded  by  the  clergyman's 
brother,  a  gallant  and  distinguished  officer.  The 
story  circulated  very  quickly  in  a  neighbourhood 
where  every  little  circumstance  is  an  event ;  and  to 
the  credit  of  my  favourite  Bannow,  be  it  known 
that,  on  the  very  same  Sabbath  morning,  in  the 


56  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

Protestant  church  and  Catholic  chapel,  a  collection 
was  made  for  the  benefit  of  the  distressed  family. 
Another  week  saw  Mary  and  her  children  in  quiet 
possession  of  a  two-roomed  cabin ;  the  parish 
minister  and  parish  priest  conversing  at  the  door 
as  to  the  best  manner  of  procuring  the  industrious 
woman  continued  employment ;  and  the  three 
young  ladies  busily  engaged  in  arranging  new 
noggins  and  plates,  and  all  manner  of  cottage 
furniture,  to  their  own  sweet  taste.  Then  Farmer 
Corish  gave  Mrs.  Clavery  a  sack  of  potatoes ; 
Master  Ben  engaged  to  "  teach "  the  children  for 
nothing ;  Mrs.  Cassidy  sent  as  her  offering  a  fine 
fat  little  pig;  Mrs.  Corish  presented  a  motherly, 
well-educated  goose,  capable  of  bringing  up  a 
numerous  family  respectably ;  good  Mr.  Rooney, 
as  considerate  and  worthy  an  old  bachelor  as  ever 
lived  (how  angry  I  am  with  good  men  for  being  old 
bachelors !),  sent  her  a  sitting  hen  and  seven  eggs 
— in  short,  the  little  cottage  and  garden  were 
stocked  so  quickly,  and  yet  so  well,  and  the  poor 
woman  was  so  grateful,  that  she  could  hardly 
believe  the  reality  of  what  had  occurred.  Her  kind 
friends  at  the  Parsonage,  however,  saw  that  some- 
thing more  was  wanting  to  make  their  prote'ge 
perfectly  happy.  What  that  was,  need  I  tell? — 
my  lady  readers  have  surely  guessed  it  already, 
and  even  the  gentlemen  may  have  found  it  out. 
The  clergyman,  without  acquainting  Mrs.  Clavery, 
had  written  to  his  brother,  mentioning  all  the 
particulars,  and  begging  Thomas's  discharge.  The 


GREGORY 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,  R.S.A. 


THE  BAN  NOW   POSTMAN  57 

last  post  had  brought  him  a  letter  stating  that  his 
request  was  granted. 

But  the  three  graces  (as  my  young  friends  of  the 
Parsonage  were  always  called)  denied  themselves 
the  pleasure  of  communicating  the  joyful  tidings, 
leaving  the  expected  letter  from  Thomas  Clavery 
himself  to  tell  the  news.  They  could  not,  however, 
forego  the  gratification  of  witnessing  the  joy  the 
cottagers  would  feel  when  the  information  was 
communicated  that  the  husband  and  the  father  was 
on  the  homeward  journey,  and  they  hastily  followed 
the  postman  to  Mary's  abode. 

John's  next  resting-place  was  at  an  old  weather- 
beaten  but  spacious  mansion,  somewhat  out  of  the 
Bannow  district,  and  close  on  the  beach.  It  be- 
longed to  a  gentleman  whose  health  obliged  him 
to  reside  for  a  time  on  the  Continent,  but  who  had 
lent  his  house  to  his  relative,  Sir  James  Horatio 
Banks,  M.P.,  for  the  summer,  as  the  sea-bathing  is 
very  good  all  along  the  Wexford  coast:  conse- 
quently, Sir  James  Horatio,  his  lady,  and  all  his 
little  ones  and  servants,  were,  fortunately,  only 
birds  of  passage.  I  beg  that  this  fact  may  be 
clearly  understood,  as  I  would  on  no  account  have 
the  family  confounded  with  our  own  dear  resident 
gentry.  Sir  James  Horatio  Banks,  M.P.,  was  a 
great  man  in  his  own  way,  and  a  strange  way  it 
was.  Anything  but  a  spendthrift,  in  the  usual 
acceptation  of  the  word,  and  yet  in  perpetual 
embarrassments;  for  he  was  always  at  law; — 
never,  to  do  him  justice,  missed  an  opportunity  of 


58  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

litigation,  whether  for  a  thousand  pounds  or  a 
thousand  pence,  an  estate  or  an  acre.  Long 
Chancery  suits  were  his  delight,  and  he  antici- 
pated Term  with  absolute  rapture.  Most  people 
complain  of  the  law's  delays.  Not  so  Sir  James 
Horatio  Banks.  He  was  always  anxious  to  retard 
its  decisions ;  so  much  so  that  he  was  once  desig- 
nated, in  open  court,  "  a  filthy  pebble  in  the  wheel 
of  justice."  He  stood  a  contested  election,  or 
rather,  Lady  Banks  got  him  through  it,  and 
triumphantly  speechified  on  the  hustings ;  but  the 
many  thousands  expended  on  that  memorable 
occasion  would  have  broken  his  heart  to  a 
certainty  if,  fortunately,  three  fresh  lawsuits 
had  not  thence  arisen  to  console  him.  It  was 
some  comfort  to  the  Irish  to  discover  that  his 
mother  had  been  a  native  of  Wales;  for  he  was 
very  mean  in  his  household  expenses,  which,  they 
asserted,  could  not  have  been  the  case  had  he 
been  "  raale  Irish."  In  truth,  he  had  a  miserly 
aspect :  a  thin,  spare  body,  covered  with  a  parch- 
ment-like skin  ;  a  rattish  expression  of  countenance ; 
and  little  peering  grey  eyes  that  seemed  eternally 
seeking  for  flaws  in  everything.  He  used  to  ride 
a  bony  black  horse,  and  always  wore  overgrown 
jackboots,  a  threadbare  long  coat,  a  flapped  hat, 
— that  sometimes  answered  the  purpose  of  an 
umbrella, — and  invariably  fastened  a  pair  of  horse- 
pistols  to  the  pommel  of  his  saddle.  One  of  our 
Bannow  poets  made  the  following  rhyme  on  the 
worthy  member,  and  contrived  in  a  crowd  to  tie 


THE   BANNOW   POSTMAN  59 

them  to  the  tail  of  his  horse.     How  he  mourned 
that  he  could  never  discover  the  author ! — 

' '  The  Divil  Sir  Jimmy  to  Parliament  sint ; 
To  plaze  his  master,  Sir  Jimmy  he  wint, 
On  his  ould  black  horse,  that  looked  like  a  hack  : 
Success !   cried  the  boys  ;  may  ye  never  come  back  ! " 

Indeed,  the  peculiarities  of  the  family  afforded 
much  amusement  to  the  neighbourhood  where 
they  resided  for  a  time.  Lady  Banks  was  the 
very  opposite  of  her  husband :  possessed,  as  a 
brother  sportsman  once  said  of  her,  "  blood,  bone, 
and  beauty";  wore  a  scarlet  riding-habit ;  hunted 
in  grand  style — was  always  in  at  the  death ;  sung 
songs  after  supper ;  loved  claret ;  never  scrupled 
at  an  oath;  called  Sir  James  "her  little  man"; 
always  saw  the  horses  fed ;  obliged  her  girls  to 
stand  fire,  her  boys  to  go  barefoot  to  make 
them  hardy;  and  obtained  for  herself,  amongst 
the  country  people,  the  universal  sobriquet  of 
"  Man  Jack."  Perhaps  all  these  eccentricities 
might  have  been  forgiven  had  she  possessed  the 
kindly  feelings  of  her  sex,  for  she  was  young  and 
handsome :  but  she  was  neither  an  affectionate 
mother  nor  a  sincere  friend ;  she  loved  to  dash 
and  astonish,  and  left  a  family  of  beautiful 
children  to  the  management  of  a  French  lady's- 
maid  and  head  groom. 

The  postman's  arrival  was  a  matter  of  great 
importance  to  the  household,  as  Sir  James  always 
expected  letters,  and  the  family  had  many  wants 
to  be  supplied.  Ma'm'selle  Madeline  had  de- 


60  IRISH   LIFE   AND   CHARACTER 

scended  to  the  servants'  hall  to  await  John's 
coming,  and  two  or  three  of  the  younger  children 
accompanied  her ;  on  a  table,  in  the  centre  of 
the  apartment,  Miss  Julia,  a  lovely  girl  of  five 
years  old,  was  dancing  a  jig  to  the  great  amuse- 
ment of  two  or  three  men-servants,  who  sung  St. 
Patrick's  Day  to  "  plaze  the  jewil  " ;  Carlos  and 
Henry,  two  younger  urchins,  were  riding  a 
magnificent  Newfoundland  dog;  the  groom  and 
the  footman  were  playing  cards  at  a  small  side- 
table  near  the  fire,  and  near  it  was  a  jug  of 
whisky  punch,  to  which  the  butler,  housekeeper, 
and  coachman  frequently  resorted.  Ma'm'selle 
Madeline  looked  contemptuously  on  them  all, 
until  roused  from  her  reverie  by  the  butler's 
inquiring  "  if  Miss  Maddy  wouldn't  taste  a  drop 
of  the  genuine — betther,  ten  to  one,  nor  all  the 
wine  that  iver  sailed  out  of  France?"  "Non, 
Mergie,  bien,  tank  you,  monsieur — ver  oblige, 
mais — but  I  ha'de  horreur  great  to  your  ponch. 
Faugh ! — excuse  moi — 'tis  von  great  bad  shmell. 
— Faugh ! " — and  the  lady's-maid  refreshed  her 
nose  with  "  Eau  de  Luce,"  much  to  the  amusement 
of  the  servants.  "  Oh,  John  ! — welcome,  John  ! " 
— "  Oh,  Monsieur  John,  you  not  be  come  at  last." 
— "  John,  the  rings  for  the  pigs."  John  here,  John 
there,  John  everywhere,  as  usual.  At  length,  the 
papers  and  letters  were  piled  on  the  table,  and 
Ma'm'selle  Madeline  had  received,  and  disappeared 
with,  her  bandboxes.  "Larry,"  said  the  butler 
to  the  footman,  "take  up  the  papers — why  don't 


THE   BANNOW   POSTMAN  6l 

ye?"  "Let  them  wait  till  I've  looked  at  them 
myself,"  replied  Larry.  "  I  want  to  see  what 
news  from  the  Curragh,  as  my  lady  has  a  heavy 
bet  on  Captain  Lofty's  sorrel  coult."  "  Any  news 
of  the  law  business?"  inquired  the  steward. 
"  How  do  I  know,  or  what  do  I  care  ? "  replied 
Larry.  "  What  does  it  signify  whether  law  actions 
are  gained  or  not? — don't  we  all  know  what 

comes  over  the  divil's  back  must  go  under " 

"Dacency!"  screamed  the  cook.  "All  I  know," 
observed  the  steward,  "  is " 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what,  boys,"  said  John  Williams, 
"  ye'd  betther  mind  yer  business,  and  take  the 
letthers  up,  out  of  hand;  for  Sir  James  and  my 
lady  both  saw  me  coming  down  the  avenue." 

'*  Och,  murder,  John  ! — why  didn't  ye  tell  me 
so  before.  By  the  powers,  '  Man  Jack '  '11  bate  my 
brains  out!"  and  the  footman  hurried  off  amid 
the  laughter  of  his  fellow-servants. 

"  Any  news,  Sir  James  ?  "  inquired  the  lady,  as 
she  tried  on  a  new  velvet  hunting-cap. 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  I've  just  received  the  bills  for 
my  last  suit  in  the  King's  Bench." 

"  You  lost  the  cause,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  owing  to  the  hurry  that  Counsel  Playdil 
was  in — never  can  take  his  time  about  anything." 

"  What's  the  damage  ?  " 

Poor  Sir  James  groaned.  "  It  will  stand  me  in, 
one  way  or  other,  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty- 
seven  pounds,  fourteen  shillings,  and  threepence 
farthing." 


62  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  The  devil  it  will ! "  exclaimed  the  lady,  laying 
down  the  hunting-cap.  "  I  wonder,  Sir  James,  you 
don't  at  once  take  my  advice :  have  done  with  the 
law,  and  the  torment  of  it.  I'll  bet  ten  to  one  you'd 
be  as  happy  again.  Oh,  if  you  had  my  spirit ! " 

Sir  James  thought,  perhaps,  that  she  had  enough 
for  both.  A  pause  ensued,  and  at  length  the  M.P. 
began :  "  My  dear  Lady  Banks,  do  you  know  that 
Major  M'Laughlin's  filly  has  won  the  cup  ?  " 

"  Then  I'm  in  for  a  cool  hundred,  that's  certain, 
or  else  there's  some  foul  play.  Curse  me,  though," 
continued  the  lady,  "  but  I'll  find  it  out ! — a  colt 
like  Lofty's ! — such  a  chest — such  action — such 
limbs !  Why,  M'Laughlin's  was  no  more  to  be 
compared  to  it — but  it's  all  your  fault,  Sir  James. 
I  never  have  my  own  way.  I  ought  to  have  been 
on  the  race-ground  ;  but  here  you  would  stick  and 
vegetate  like  a  cabbage — except,  indeed,  in  Term 
time.  You  don't  care  what's  spent  on  lawsuits." 

"  'Sdeath,  madam,  were  it  not  for  the  law  we 
should  be  ruined,  your  extravagance  is  such.  You 
never  ask  the  price  of  anything.  Hadn't  I  to  go 
to  law  with  your  habit-maker  for  his  overcharges  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes ! — and  to  pay  three-and-thirty  pounds 
more  than  the  original  bill." 

"  Well,  but  still  I  Jiad  the  law,  and  I  showed  the 
fellow  I  could  not  be  imposed  upon.  Oh,  Lady 
Banks,  Lady  Banks  !  I  wish  you  were  less  extrava- 
gant !  We  must  retrench.  Do  you  know,  were  I  not 
a  Member  of  Parliament,  I  should  be  in  a  jail.  Think 
of  that,  Lady  Banks ! — in  a  jail ! " 


THE  BANNOW   POSTMAN  63 

"  Well,  and  have  you  not  to  thank  me  for  your 
election  ?  Who  in  their  senses  would  have  sent  you, 
little  man,  to  be  a  representative,  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  my  canvassing?  The  House  would  be  half 
memberless  if  only  those  sat  there  who  paid  their 
debts  !  "  —  and  she  laughed  loudly.  "  Your  law 
tells  you  that  the  M.P.  is  a  cloak  against  bailiffs ! 
Vive  le  plaisir !  Why,  you  don't  expect  me  to 
turn  mourner,  and  spend  my  allowance  only — like 
a  schoolgirl  ? — a  woman  of  my  spirit !  Pardonnez 
moil"  She  was  leaving  her  husband  surrounded 
by  letters,  all  demanding  money,  when  some  idea 
or  sensation  occurred  that  stopped  her  on  the 
threshold.  "  Sir  James,  Madeline  tells  me  that 
Caroletta  is  ill.  Perhaps  the  child  wants  change  of 
air  ;  she  grows  fast — is  getting  quite  womanly.  You 
had  better  send  her  to  your  sister  at  Portarlington 
for  a  time.  I  have  not  a  moment  to  attend  to  it, 
but  as  she  is  your  pet,  I  thought  I  would  mention 
it."  The  lady  went  to  look  after  horses,  and  the 
gentleman  (who  certainly  loved  his  family)  to 
inquire  after  his  eldest  child,  whom  he  well  knew 
not  to  be  her  mother's  favourite,  because  she  was 
growing  so  tall  and  handsome  that  the  vainglorious 
woman  dreaded  a  rival. 

By  the  time  our  useful  postman  had  completed 
his  rounds  (for  he  had  much  to  do  after  he  had  left 
the  Honourable  Member's  house)  the  moon  was 
high  in  the  heavens,  and  John  and  his  steed  had 
ensured  sound  slumbers  by  active  exertion.  There 
were  many,  however,  who  woke,  and  some  who 


64  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

wept,  while  the  stars  sparkled  in  the  blue  sky,  and 
the  unruffled  ocean  murmured  along  the  shore. 
How  different  is  night  in  the  country  from  night 
in  town !  Oh  for  my  native  hills  by  moonlight ! 
— the  very  breeze  tells  of  repose,  and  the  lone 
and  beautiful  clouds,  passing  so  silently  along  the 
heavens  that  they 

" seem  to  be 

Fair  islands  in  a  deep  blue  sea, 
Which  human  eyes  at  eve  behold ; 
But  only  then,  unseen  by  day, 
Their  shores  and  mountains  all  of  gold." 

At  the  Parsonage  the  three  sisters  were  chatter- 
ing, as  only  girls  can  chatter,  arranging  further 
plans  to  benefit  the  poor  and  needy;  and  even 
while  their  hearts  were  uplifted  to  the  Giver  of  all 
good,  they  sank  into  the  sweet  slumbers  of  inno- 
cence. 

A  trembling  light,  that  issued  from  Mrs.  Clavery's 
window,  showed  she  was  still  awake.  Seated  by 
the  bedside,  where  her  three  little  ones,  their  arms 
twined  around  each  other,  slept  the  refreshing  sleep 
of  childhood,  she  read,  for  the  last  time  that  night, 
the  lines  which  her  husband's  hand  had  traced ; 
and  feeling  how  sweet  it  was  to  have  near  her  any- 
thing that  came  from  a  beloved  object,  placed  the 
letter  under  her  pillow,  and  then,  while  earnest, 
silent  tears  coursed  each  other  down  her  cheeks, 
prayed  that  an  all-directing  Providence  would 
guide  her  husband  in  safety  over  the  wide  waste  of 
waters. 


THE  BANNOW   POSTMAN  65 

Lady  Banks  had  just  finished  her  last  song,  after 
supper,  which  was  loudly  applauded  by  the  very 
mixed  company  that  sat  around  the  board,  while 
her  husband  looked  gloomy  enough  at  the  foot  of 
the  table,  meditating  on  his  long  debts  and  neg- 
lected daughter. 

Our  old  friend,  "  Grey  Lambert,"  and  his  faithful 
Bang,  were  soundly  sleeping  in  the  castle,  while  the 
breeze  that  moaned  along  the  decaying  walls  was 
to  them  as  a  sweet  and  soothing  lullaby. 

Anty  M'Queen — poor  Anty  ! — she  slumbered 
not.  Her  father's  cottage  was  on  the  hillside,  and 
a  very  neat  cabin  it  was ;  well  filled,  too,  with 
children  of  all  ages  and  sizes,  from  Anty,  the  eldest, 
who,  in  her  own  opinion,  was  quite  old  enough  to 
be  married,  down  to  a  fat,  rosy  "  lump  of  a  boy," 
who,  although  hardly  able  to  crawl,  fought  man- 
fully with  the  pig  for  every  potato  it  took  into  its 
mouth.  The  household,  with  the  exception  of 
Anty,  were  all  fast  asleep,  and,  from  the  nature  of 
her  dress  (according  to  the  fashionable  acceptance 
of  the  word,  she  might  have  been  called  full  dressed) 
it  would  seem  she  had  been  in  bed ;  however, 
there  she  sat  over  the  dying  embers  of  the  fire, 
an  end  of  candle  stuck  in  a  scooped  potato,  that 
served  as  a  candlestick,  and  an  open  letter  in  her 
hand,  which  she  turned  one  way  and  then  another 
without  being  able  to  comprehend  a  single  word  of 
its  contents. 

Poor  Anty  ! — it  was  only  when  she  had  received 
from   the   postman   the    long-expected   epistle,   it 
5 


66  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

occurred  to  her  that  she  was  utterly  unable  to 
peruse  it.  Indeed,  she  could  hardly  decipher  print. 
But  as  to  writing — she  never  even  had  a  pen  in  her 
hand  in  her  life.  Had  she  been  inclined  to  make 
confidants  of  her  father  and  mother,  she  would  have 
been  precisely  in  the  same  dilemma,  for  they  were 
equally  ignorant ;  and  bitterly  did  she  regret  the 
obstinacy  of  her  disposition,  which  prevented  her 
hearkening  to  Master  Ben  when  he  counselled  her 
to  become  a  scholar.  Grey  Lambert,  she  knew, 
would  at  once  have  read  every  word  of  it,  "  for  he 
had  grate  laming  " ;  but,  unfortunately,  as  her  sweet- 
heart was  no  other  than  his  grandson,  she  did  not 
exactly  wish  him  to  have  so  much  subject-matter  to 
jest  her  about.  She  had  taken  the  letter  to  Mary- 
the-Mant,  who,  next  to  Peggy  the  Fisher,  perhaps 
knew  more  about  the  love  affairs  of  the  neighbour- 
hood than  anybody  else ;  but  Mary-the-Mant  was 
not  at  home — gone  to  Waterford — would  not  be  back 
for  three  days  !  Master  Ben  then  occurred  to  her. 
But,  no ! — she  could  not  bear  him  to  read  it  for  her. 
Not  that  he  would  laugh ;  but  he  would  feel  no 
interest,  and  perhaps  find  fault,  with  the  skill  of  a 
practised critic,and  condemn  the  spelling  and  diction 
of  her  beloved  letter  without  mercy.  What  could 
she  do?  Letty  Connor — she  was  well-educated; 
but  then  she  had  been  a  sort  of  rival  of  hers,  and 
she  did  not  wish  her  to  know  anything  at  all 
about  the  matter.  John  Williams  ?  No ;  he  would 
make  fun  of  her  in  his  own  quiet,  sly  way.  What 
should  she  do  ? — There  she  sat  over  the  fire,  twisting 


THE  BAN  NOW  POSTMAN  67 

and  turning  the  manuscript,  that  looked,  to  tell 
the  truth,  like  a  collection  of  strange  hieroglyphics 
more  than  anything  else ;  and,  after  much  consider- 
ation, Anty  resolved  on  two  things :  one,  even  to 
take  the  letter  to  Grey  Lambert  (for  waiting  three 
entire  days  for  Mary-the-Mant  was  out  of  the 
question),  and  get  him  to  read  it.  The  other  was 
to  offer  herself  again  as  a  pupil  to  Master  Ben,  and 
get  herself  taught  writing  "  out  of  hand  " — all  in  a 
minute — and  surprise  her  lover  (who  was  a  wonderful 
scholar  entirely)  with  her  acquirements. 

The  next  morning  Anty  arrived  at  Coolhull 
before  Lambert  had  finished  his  prayers  ;  for,  on 
peeping  through  a  large  slit  in  the  door,  she  saw  the 
old  man  on  his  knees  before  a  crucifix,  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  great  hall,  Bang  sitting  by  his  side, 
while  the  bright  red  light  of  morning  streamed 
through  one  of  the  broken  windows,  and  rested  on 
their  heads.  Her  visit  was  immediately  noticed  by 
the  faithful  dog,  whose  scent,  or  ear,  soon  discovered 
that  she  was  outside.  He  walked  steadily  to  the 
time-worn  door,  and  laying  his  long  nose  on  the 
ground,  sniffed  loudly  three  or  four  times,  and 
moved  his  tail  slowly,  in  token  of  recognition,  as 
she  entered.  The  young  girl  busied  herself  in  light- 
ing the  fire,  and  settling  the  few  rude  articles  of 
furniture  according  to  her  own  taste,  until  Grey 
Lambert's  orisons  were  finished.  When  he  arose 
from  his  knees,  she  knelt  and  asked  his  blessing. 

"  Well,  Anty,  what's  come  to  ye,  my  child,  to  be 
two  good  miles  from  your  own  home,  and  it  not 


68  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

six  o'clock  yet  ?  Ye  weren't  heavy  for  sleep  this 
morning,  I'm  sartin.  Is  there  anything  the  matter 
at  home,  mavourneen  ? — for  something  strange  must 
have  brought  ye.  Come,  don't  look  so  shy  ;  what 
is  it  ails  the  colleen? — Have  ye  lost  yer  tongue? — 
Fait,  agra !  it's  bad  indeed  wid  ye,  if  that's  gone." 
Anty  shook  her  head.  "  Well,  I'll  sit  down  here, 
and  wait  till  ye  choose  to  spake,  and  not  spind  any 
more  o'  my  breath  on  ye ;  for,  to  tell  God's  truth, 
I've  not  much  to  spare ;  only  I  can't  think  what's  over 
the  girl."  Lambert  sat  down  ;  and  after  a  con- 
siderable pause,  during  which  Anty  twisted  and 
untwisted  the  corner  of  her  apron  with  admirable 
perseverance,  she  drew  the  letter  from  its  hiding- 
place,  and,  turning  away  her  blushing  face  as  she 
spoke,  said,  with  considerable  hesitation — 

"  Ye  funned  me  about  a  letther  last  night.  Sure 
I  couldn't  help  it  if  the  boy  chose  to  write.  It's  no 
faut  o'  mine.  I  didn't  put  any  comether  in  life 
upon  him ;  and  more  betokens,  I  wouldn't  have 
troubled  ye  to  rade  it  for  me  if  I  could  rade  it  my- 
self. And  sure,  Grey  Lambert,  I  didn't  desave  ye 
by  no  manner  of  manes  ;  for  I  knew  ye  mistrusted 
we  were  almost  keeping  company  afore  Pat  took  the 
turn  for  going  to  sea." 

"  So,  Anty,  ye  mane  to  be  Grey  Lambert's  grand- 
daughter. Whist  now ! — I'll  rade  the  letther : — 

" '  MY  DEAR  ANTY,— I  do  hope  that  these  few 
lines  will  meet  acceptance  and  true  love  from  you, 
for  ye  haven't  forgot  the  fippinny-bit ;  the  half  of 


THE  BANNOW  POSTMAN  69 

it,  and  the  long  curl,  are  next  my  bateing  heart  this 
minit,  and  sure  it's  in  the  core  of  it  they  should  be, 
if  I  had  any  way  to  get  them  there ;  but  it's  all  the 
same.  I'm  uneasy  in  my  mind  about  two  things 
— my  poor  ould  ancient  gran'fader,  and  your  little 
innocent  flirtish  ways.  Ah,  Anty  !  sure  there's  all 
the  boys  on  land  that  you  used  to  taze  the  life  o' 
me  about.  And  ye  think  it  no  harm  to  laugh  wid 
'em  now ;  but  it  wouldn't  be  the  same  if  we  were 
married. — Ye'd  behave  yourself  thin,  Anty.  And 
that  and  my  ould  ancient  gran'fader  has  made  up 
my  mind. — And  the  thoughts  of  it  has  prevented 
my  spending. — And  I'm  coming  home,  plaze  God, 
only  don't  tell  the  ould  man,  nor  Bang,  the  baste, 
becase  I  mane  every  mother's  sowl  o'  ye  much  joy. 
— And  I've  bought  such  a  beautiful  gown-piece  for 
the  wedding.  Only  to  my  thinking,  Anty,  nothing 
can  make  ye  handsomer  than  ye  are.  And  many 
charmers  I  have  seen,  but  none  like  my  Bannow 
girl.  And  Jim  the  boatswain  has  made  a  song 
upon  ye,  according  to  my  telling,  and  every  varse 
ends  wid — 

"Anty,  the  darlint  of  the  land, 
Is  still  her  Paddy's  pride." 

Oh,  it's  a  dale  a  finer  song  than  "  Colleen  das 
Crutheen  Amo,"  as  you'll  say  whin  ye  hear  it, 
which'll  be  very  soon  afther  you,  and  my  ould 
ancient  gran'fader,  gets  the  letthers.  And  there's 
another  boy  travelling  home  to  Bannow,  by  the 
name  of  Thomas  Clavery,  a  late  soldier,  but  dis- 
charged— an  honest,  dacent  craythur  as  ever  drew 
breath,  and  doating  alive  upon  the  wife  and  the 
grawls.  Be  faithful  to  him  that's  faithful  to  you, 
"  true  as  the  needle  to  the  poll." — God's  blessing  be 


70  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

about  ye,  prays,  my  dear  Anty,  your  most  affec- 
tionate lover  (husband  soon)  till  death, 

"' PATRICK  LAMBERT.'" 


Grey  Lambert  folded  up  the  epistle,  and  returned 
it  to  its  rightful  owner.  The  old  man  did  not  jest 
upon  its  contents,  but,  rising  from  his  seat,  laid  his 
hand  on  Anty's  head,  and,  in  a  deep  but  solemn 
voice,  said — 

"  So,  colleen,  the  promise  has  passed  betwixt  ye, 
that  in  God's  eye  is  as  binding  on  ye  as  if  the 
blessed  Pope  had  joined  yer  hands  in  his  holy 
temple  at  Rome.  I  knew  ye  had  a  kindness  for 
each  other,  from  many  little  things,  more  especially 
from  the  way  Pat  always  mintioned  ye  in  his 
letthers  ;  but  I  didn't  think  ye  were  contracted,  or 
else,  Anty,  who  I  love  (and  good  right  I  have  to 
love  ye,  as  my  own  child),  I  would  have  talked 
more  seriously  to  ye  about  the  little  flirting  ways 
yer  true  love  mintions.  Anty,  look  up  in  the  ould 
man's  face,  and  tell  him,  did  ye  ever  think — think 
solidly — what  was  required  of  woman  in  mar- 
riage?" There  was  that  in  Grey  Lambert's 
manner  which  conquered  levity,  and  the  young 
girl  looked  up  with  the  expression  of  countenance 
which  replied  "  No."  "  Few  craturs  at  yer  age 
do,"  he  continued  :  "  and  what  I  say  to  you,  ye 
young  wild  flower,  sweet  and  spotless  as  ye  are,  I 
will  say  to  him  ;  and  more  too,  for  ye  are  far 
faithfuller  in  yer  naturs  than  us.  Ah,  Anty!  it's 
asy  enough  to  be  true  to  the  young  heart's  first 


THE  BANNOW  POSTMAN  71 

love  whin  all  is  full  of  hope ;  but  in  my  early  days 
I  have  seen  affection  that  seemed  as  strong  as  life, 
and  then,  a  breath,  or  a  word,  or  a  look  maybe, 
has  begun  unkindness,  and  that  has  increased 
until,  at  last,  bitter  scorn,  ay,  and  black  hatred,  grew 
where  there  had  been  nothing  but  love  and  smiles. 
And  women  have  much  to  bear,  Anty  ;  for  it's  little 
men  heed  an  unkind  word,  unjustly  spoken  maybe, 
and  yet  to  be  borne  almost  as  if  it  was  dear  or 
darlint — which  is  the  hardest  word  I  hope  ever  to 
hear  Patrick  make  use  of  to  you.  But,  my  girl, 
when  ye  knew  of  the  promise,  it  wasn't  quite  right 
of  ye  to  skit,  and  laugh,  and  dance,  as  if  ye  were 
free." 

"  I  am  sure,  Grey  Lambert,"  interrupted  Anty, 
half  crying,  "ye've  no  rason  to  turn  on  me  after 
that  fashion,  for  I  meant  no  harm,  and  nothing  in 
life  would  ever  make  me  jilty." 

"  Asy,  agra,  till  I  tell  ye  a  little  story  to  divart 
ye  a  bit ;  and  it's  all  thrue,  and  I  know  ye'll  find 
out  my  maning,  for  ye're  'cute  enough."  And  Anty 
listened  very  attentively,  pulling  first  one  and  then 
the  other  of  Bang  the  baste's  ears,  which  he  bore 
patiently,  not  even  increasing  her  perplexity  by 
moving  his  head  from  off  her  lap. 

"  In  the  ancient  times,  when  flowers,  and  trees, 
and  fairies  were  on  spaking  terms,  and  all  friendly 
together,  one  fine  summer's  day  the  sun  shone  out 
on  a  beautiful  garden,  where  there  war  all  sorts  of 
plants  that  ye  could  mintion  ;  and  a  lovely  but 
giddy  fairy  went  sporting  about  from  one  to 


72  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

the  other  (although  no  one  could  see  her,  because 
of  the  sunlight)  as  gay  as  the  morning  lark.  Then 
says  the  fairy  to  the  rose,  '  Rose,  if  the  sun  was 
clouded,  and  a  storm  came  on,  would  ye  shelter 
and  love  me  still  ?  '  '  Do  ye  doubt  me  ? '  says 
the  rose,  and  reddened  up  with  anger.  '  Lily,' 
says  the  fairy  to  another  love,  '  if  the  sun  was 
clouded,  and  a  storm  came  on,  would  ye  shelter 
and  love  me  still?'  'Oh,  do  you  think  I  could 
change  ? '  says  the  lily,  and  she  grew  still  paler  with 
sorrow.  '  Tulip,'  said  the  fairy,  '  if  the  sun  was 
clouded,  and  a  storm  came  on,  would  ye  shelter 
and  love  me  still  ?  '  '  Upon  my  word  ! '  said  the 
tulip,  making  a  very  gentleman-like  bow, c  ye're  the 
very  first  lady  that  doubted  my  constancy.'  So  the 
fairy  sported  on,  joyful  to  think  of  her  kind  and 
blooming  friends.  She  revelled  away  for  a  time, 
and  then  she  thought  on  the  pale  blue  violet  that 
was  almost  kivered  with  its  broad  green  leaves ; 
and,  although  it  was  an  ould  comrade,  she  might 
have  forgotten  it  had  it  not  been  for  the  sweet 
scent  that  came  up  from  the  modest  flower.  '  Oh, 
Violet,'  said  the  fairy, '  if  the  sun  was  clouded,  and 
a  storm  came  on,  would  ye  shelter  and  love  me 
still  ? '  And  the  violet  made  answer,  '  Ye  have 
known  me  long,  sweet  fairy ;  and  in  the  first  spring- 
time, when  there  were  few  other  flowers,  ye  used 
to  shelter  from  the  cold  blast  under  my  leaves. 
Now  ye've  almost  forgotten  me — but  let  it  pass. 
Try  my  truth — if  ever  you  should  meet  misfortune 
—I  say  nothing.'  Well,  the  fairy  skitted  at  that, 


A  CARD   PARTY 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,  R.S.A 


THE  BANNOW   POSTMAN  73 

and  clapped  her  silvery  wings,  and  whisked,  singing, 
off  on  a  sunbame ;  but  she  was  hardly  gone  when 
a  black  cloud  grew  up  out  of  the  north,  all  in  a 
minit,  and  the  light  was  shrouded,  and  the  rain 
fell  in  slashings,  like  hail,  and  away  flies  the  fairy 
to  her  friend  the  rose.  '  Now,  Rose,'  says  she, 
'the  rain  is  come,  so  shelter  and  love  me  still.' 
'  I  can  hardly  shelter  my  own  buds,'  says  the  rose, 
1  but  the  lily  has  a  deep  cup.'  Well,  the  poor  little 
fairy's  wings  were  almost  wet,  but  she  got  to  the 
lily.  '  Lily/  says  she,  '  the  storm  is  come,  so  shelter 
and  love  me  still.'  '  I  am  sorry,'  says  the  lily,  '  but 
if  I  were  to  open  my  cup,  the  rain  would  bate  in 
like  fun,  and  my  seed  would  be  kilt  entirely — the 
tulip  has  long  leaves.'  Well,  the  fairy  was  down- 
hearted enough,  but  she  went  to  the  tulip,  who  she 
always  thought  a  sweet-spoken  gentleman.  He 
certainly  did  not  look  as  bright  as  he  had  done  in 
the  sun,  but  she  waved  her  little  wand,  and  '  Tulip,' 
said  she,  '  the  rain  and  the  storm  are  come,  and  I 
am  very  weary,  but  you  will  shelter  and  love  me 
still.'  '  Begone  ! '  says  the  tulip ;  '  be  off ! '  says  he. 
'  A  pretty  pickle  I'd  be  in  if  I  let  every  wandering 
scamper  come  about  me.'  Well,  by  this  time  she 
was  very  tired,  and  her  wings  hung  dripping  at  her 
back — wet  indeed  ;  but  there  was  no  help  for  it, 
and  leaning  on  her  pretty  silver  wand,  she  limped 
off  to  the  violet.  And  the  darlint  little  flower,  with 
its  blue  eye,  that's  as  clear  as  a  kitten's,  saw  her 
coming,  and  never  a  word  she  spoke,  but  opened 
her  broad  green  leaves,  and  took  the  wild  wander- 


74  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

ing  craythur  to  her  bosom,  and  dried  her  wings, 
and  breathed  the  sweetest  parfumes  over  her,  and 
sheltered  her  until  the  storm  was  clane  gone. 
Then  the  humble  violet  spoke,  and  said,  'Fairy 
Queen,  it  is  bad  to  flirt  with  many,  for  the  love  of 
one  true  heart  is  enough  for  earthly  woman  or 
fairy  spirit;  the  ould  and  humble  love  is  better 
than  the  gay  compliments  of  a  world  of  flowers, 
for  it  will  last  when  the  others  pass.'  And  the 
fairy  knew  that  it  was  true  for  the  blue  violet ;  and 
she  contented  herself  ever  after,  and  built  her 
downy  bower  under  the  widespreading  violet  leaves 
that  sheltered  her  from  the  rude  winter's  wind  and 
the  hot  summer's  sun ;  and  to  this  very  day  the 
fairies  love  the  violet  beds." 

Anty  smiled,  and  suffered  Bang's  ears  to  escape 
when  the  story  was  finished.  Grey  Lambert 
smiled  also,  and  as  she  was  departing  inquired  if 
her  parents  knew  of  the  contract .  She  frankly 
replied  in  the  negative ;  and  the  old  man  accom- 
panied the  little  gipsy  to  her  father's  cabin,  where 
the  news  was  joyfully  received.  Everybody  liked 
Patrick ;  and,  moreover,  everybody  suspected  that 
in  some  sly  corner  the  old  man  had  wherewithal 
to  make  a  plentiful  wedding. 

Nothing  happened  to  prevent  matters  coming  to 
a  happy  termination.  Thomas  Clavery  and  Patrick 
Lambert  returned  on  the  same  day.  The  gown- 
piece  was  declared  to  be  an  "  uncommon  beauty," 
even  by  Mrs.  Cassidy ;  and  a  time  was  fixed  for 
the  wedding: — but  where  do  you  suppose  it  was 


THE  BANNOW  POSTMAN  75 

celebrated  ?     In  no  other  place,  I  assure  you,  than 
in  Grey  Lambert's  old  castle. 

"  It's  a  fancy,  I  know,"  said  he,  "  and  a  strange 
one,  but  I  can't  help  it.  The  bride  and  bridegroom 
can  trot  off  to  their  nate  little  cabin,  that's  all 
ready  for  them,  and  that  I  defy  any  one  to  say 
wants  a  single  thing ;  and  it  will  make  me  happy 
to  know  that  once  more  laughter  and  music  will 
visit  the  ancient  castle  of  Coolhull." 

Such  a  wedding  was  never  seen  in  the  country 
from  that  day  to  this.  It  was  a  most  wonderful 
wedding !  More  than  fifty  long  torches  of  bog- 
wood  were  stuck  up  and  down  in  the  walls,  and 
the  ivy  and  wild  plants  formed  a  singular  but  not 
unpleasing  contrast  to  the  grey  stones  and  flar- 
ing lights.  One  end  of  the  dilapidated  hall  was 
reserved  for  dancing;  and  there,  on  a  throne  of 
turf,  sat  the  immortal  Kelly,  a  deep  jug  of  whisky 
punch  close  to  his  footstool,  and  he  "  blowing  away 
for  the  dear  life "  on  his  pipes.  At  the  other  end 
was  a  long  table,  formed  of  deal  spars,  covered 
with  such  cloths,  plates,  dishes,  glasses,  noggins, 
jugs,  and  sundries  as  the  neighbouring  farmhouses 
could  lend — placed  on  stones  and  turfs,  sufficiently 
elevated.  What  a  supper  ! — rounds  of  beef,  turkey, 
geese — such  profusion  !  The  "  wedding  of  Bally- 
poreen  "  was  nothing  to  it !  And  when  the  cake 
was  fairly  cut,  Father  Mike's  perquisites  were  many, 
for  Grey  Lambert,  whose  reported  wealth  was  no 
jest,  laid  down  a  golden  guinea  on  the  plate.  He 
had  bidden  many  of  the  neighbouring  gentry  to 


76  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

the  marriage ;  and,  as  the  old  man  was  much 
respected,  and  the  arrangements  very  singular, 
there  were  few  apologies.  The  great  hall  was,  at 
an  early  hour,  nearly  filled  with  motley  company : 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  farmers  and  farmers'  wives, 
"boys  and  girls"  of  all  ranks,  in  their  Sunday 
gear  and  with  happy,  joyous  faces ;  some  whispering 
so  closely  that  Father  Mike  was  led  to  believe  a 
few  more  weddings  would  take  place  before  Lent. 
Then  the  Babelish  noises! — Kelly's  pipes,  merry 
laughter,  loud  tongues  ! 

Grey  Lambert  danced  merrily  with  the  young 
ladies  from  the  Parsonage,  and  "  bate  them  off  the 
flure"  at  the  Irish  jig.  The  bride  looked  provok- 
ingly  pretty  and  mischievous  ;  and  the  boatswain, 
who  came  from  Waterford  to  the  ceremony,  sung 
not  only — 

"Anty,  the  darlint  of  the  land, 
Is  still  her  Paddy's  pride  !  " 

but  composed  extemporaneous  verses  on  the  occa- 
sion, which  were  received  with  much  applause. 

Was  that  all  ?  No :  in  a  far  corner  sat  Thomas 
and  Mary  Clavery ! 

John  Williams,  whose  dislike  to  conversation  dis- 
appeared in  a  very  odd  way,  probably  owing  to 
his  continued  potations,  annoyed  Anty  continually 
by  calling  her  "  Mrs.  Lambert  " ;  and  the  old  man 
kept  up  the  joke,  somewhat  unmercifully,  by  now 
and  then  reminding  her  of  the  past :  "  Sure  I'll  not 
come  to  see  ye  in  yer  unchristian-like  place,  if  ye 
talk  after  that  fashion  to  a  young  cratur  like  me  !  ' 


THE   BAN  NOW   POSTMAN  77 

As  the  company  departed,  he  conducted  them 
with  the  air  of  a  prince  to  the  great  gate ;  and 
Father  Mike,  after  he  had  earnestly  prayed  that 
his  full  blessing  might  rest  on  them  all,  declared 
he  had  never  been  at  so  happy  a  wedding. 

I  am  not  prepared  to  state  whether  or  not  Anty 
learned  writing,  for  she  was  able  to  prevail  upon 
Patrick  to  "  give  up  the  sea,"  and  content  himself 
with  the  occasional  management  of  a  fishing  boat ; 
consequently,  she  was  not  likely,  in  the  whole 
course  of  her  life,  to  receive  another  letter.  She 
remembered  the  fairy  tale,  and,  to  the  credit  of  the 
sex  be  it  spoken,  left  off  "  her  flirting  ways."  Grey 
Lambert  is  still  in  possession  of  the  old  castle  and 
extraordinary  health  ;  and  John  Williams  may 
carry  this  tale  to  "  mine  old  home,"  in  his  capacity 
as  THE  BANNOW  POSTMAN. 


"WE'LL  SEE  ABOUT  IT' 

"  We'll  see  about  it ! "  From  that  simple  sentence 
has  arisen  more  evil  to  Ireland  than  any  person 
ignorant  of  the  strange  union  of  impetuosity  and 
procrastination  my  countrymen  exhibit  could  well 
believe.  They  are  sufficiently  prompt  and  energetic 
when  their  feelings  are  concerned,  but  in  matters  of 
business  they  almost  invariably  prefer  seeing  about 
to  doing. 

I  shall  not  find  it  difficult  to  illustrate  this 
observation.  From  the  many  examples  of  its 
truth,  in  high  and  in  low  life,  I  select  Philip 
Garraty. 

Philip,  and  Philip's  wife,  and  Philip's  children, 
and  all  the  house  of  Garraty,  are  employed  from 
morning  till  night  in  seeing  about  everything,  and, 
consequently,  in  doing  nothing.  There  is  Philip — 
a  tall,  handsome,  good-humoured  fellow,  of  about 
five-and-thirty,  with  broad,  lazy-looking  shoulders, 
and  a  smile  perpetually  lurking  about  his  mouth 
or  in  his  bright  hazel  eyes,  the  picture  of  indolence 
and  kindly  feeling.  There  he  is  leaning  over  what 
was  once  a  five-barred  gate,  and  leads  to  the  hag- 
yard  ;  his  blue  worsted  stockings  full  of  holes, 
78 


"WE'LL  SEE  ABOUT  IT"  79 

which  "  the  suggan,"  twisted  half-way  up  the  well- 
formed  leg,  fails  to  conceal ;  while  his  brogues  (to 
use  his  own  words),  if  they  do  let  the  water  in, 
let  it  out  again.  With  what  unstudied  elegance 
does  he  roll  that  knotted  twine  and  then  unroll  it, 
varying  his  occupation  by  kicking  the  stones  that 
once  formed  a  wall  into  the  stagnant  pool,  scarcely 
big  enough  for  full-grown  ducks  to  sail  in. 

But  let  us  take  a  survey  of  the  premises. 

The  dwelling-house  is  a  long  rambling  abode, 
much  larger  than  those  that  usually  fall  to  the  lot 
of  small  Irish  farmers  ;  for  Philip  rents  a  respect- 
able farm,  and  ought  to  be  "well-to-do  in  the 
world."  The  dwelling  looks  very  comfortless,  not- 
withstanding :  part  of  the  thatch  is  much  decayed, 
and  the  rank  weeds  and  damp  moss  nearly  cover 
it ;  the  door-posts  are  only  united  to  the  wall  by 
a  few  scattered  portions  of  clay  and  stone,  and 
the  door  itself  is  hanging  but  by  one  hinge; 
the  window-frames  shake  in  the  passing  wind, 
and  some  of  the  compartments  are  stuffed  with  the 
crown  of  a  hat  or  a  "lock  of  straw" — very  un- 
sightly objects.  At  the  opposite  side  of  the  swamp 
is  the  hag-yard  gate,  where  a  broken  line  of  alter- 
nate palings  and  wall  betokens  that  it  had  been 
formerly  fenced  in  ;  the  commodious  barn  is  almost 
roofless,  and  the  other  sheds  are  pretty  much  in 
the  same  condition  ;  the  pig-sty  is  deserted  by  the 
grubbing  lady  and  her  grunting  progeny,  who  are 
too  fond  of  an  occasional  repast  in  the  once- 
cultivated  garden  to  remain  in  their  proper  abode  ; 


80  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

the  listless  turkeys  and  contented  half-fatted  geese 
live  at  large  and  on  the  public ;  but  the  turkeys, 
with  all  their  shyness  and  modesty,  have  the  best 
of  it,  for  they  mount  the  ill-built  stacks,  and  select 
the  grain  a  plaisir. 

"  Give  you  good  morrow,  Mr.  Philip.  We  have 
had  showery  weather  lately." 

"  Och  !  all  manner  of  joy  to  ye,  my  lady  ! — and 
sure  ye'll  walk  in,  and  sit  down.  My  woman  will 
be  proud  to  see  ye.  I'm  sartin  we'll  have  the  rain 
soon  agin,  for  it's  everywhere,  like  bad  luck ;  and 
my  throat's  sore  with  hurishing  thim  pigs  out  o'  the 
garden — sorra  a  thing  can  I  do  all  day  for  watch- 
ing thim." 

"  Why  do  you  not  mend  the  door  of  the  sty  ?  " 

"  True  for  ye,  ma'am  dear.  So  I  would  if  I  had 
the  nails ;  and  I've  been  threat'ning  to  step  down  to 
Mickey  Bow,  the  smith,  to  ask  him  to  see  about  it" 

"  I  hear  you've  had  a  fine  crop  of  wheat,  Philip." 

"  Thank  God  for  all  things !  You  may  say  that ; 
we  had,  my  lady,  a  fine  crop.  But  I  have  always 
the  height  of  ill-luck  somehow  ;  upon  my  sowkins 
(and  that's  the  hardest  oath  I  ever  swear),  the 
turkeys  have  had  the  most  of  it :  but  I  mean  to  see 
about  setting  it  up  safe,  to-morrow." 

"  But,  Philip,  I  thought  you  had  sold  the  wheat 
standing." 

"  It  was  all  as  one  as  sould ;  only  it's  a  bad 
world,  ma'am  dear,  and  I've  no  luck.  Says  the 
steward  to  me,  says  he,  '  I  like  to  do  things  like  a 
man  of  business  ;  so,  Mister  Garraty,  just  draw  up 


"WE'LL  SEE  ABOUT  IT"  81 

a  bit  of  an  agreement  that  you  deliver  over  the 
wheat-field  to  me,  on  sich  a  day,  standing  as  it  is, 
for  sich  a  sum ;  and  I'll  sign  it  for  ye,  and  thin  there 
can  be  no  mistake — only  let  me  have  it  by  this  day 
week.'  Well,  to  be  sure,  I  came  home  full  o'  my 
good  luck,  and  I  tould  the  wife ;  and,  on  the  strength 
of  it,  she  must  have  a  new  gown.  '  And  sure,'  says 
she, '  Miss  Hennessy  is  just  come  from  Dublin,  wid 
a  shopful  of  goods ;  and,  on  account  that  she's 
my  brother's  sister-in-law's  first  cousin,  she'll  let 
me  have  the  first  sight  o'  the  things,  and  I  can 
take  my  pick,  and  we'll  have  plinty  of  time  to  see 
about  the  'greement  to-morrow.'  Well,  I  don't  know 
how  it  was,  but  the  next  day  we  had  no  paper,  nor 
ink,  nor  pens  in  the  house :  I  meant  to  send  the 
gossoon  to  Miss  Hennessy's  for  all — but  forgot  the 
pens.  So,  when  I  was  seeing  about  the  'greement, 
I  bethought  of  the  ould  gander ;  and  while  I  was 
pulling  as  beautiful  a  pen  as  ever  ye  laid  yer  two 
eyes  upon  out  of  his  wing,  he  tattered  my  hand 
with  his  bill  in  such  a  manner  that  sorra  a  pen  I 
could  hould  for  three  days.  Well,  at  last  I  wrote 
it  out  like  print,  and  takes  it  myself  to  the  stew- 
ard. '  Good  evening  to  you,  Mr.  Garraty/  says  he. 
'  Good  evening  kindly,  sir,'  says  I.  '  I've  got  the 
'greement  here,  sir,'  says  I,  pulling  it  out,  as  I 
thought — but  I  only  cotcht  the  paper  it  was  wrapt 
in,  to  keep  it  from  the  dirt  of  the  tobacco,  that  was 
loose  in  my  pocket  for  want  of  a  box  ;  so  I  turned 
out  what  little  bits  o'  things  I  had  in  it,  and  there 
was  a  grate  hole,  that  ye  might  drive  all  the  parish 
6 


82  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

rats  through,  at  the  bottom,  which  the  wife  promised 
to  see  about  mending  as  good  as  six  months  before. 
Well,  I  saw  the  sneer  on  his  ugly  mouth  (for  he's 
an  Englishman),  and  I  turned  it  off  with  a  laugh, 
and  said  air  holes  were  comfortable  in  hot  weather, 
and  sich-like  jokes,  and  that  I'd  go  home  and  make 
another  'greement.  '  'Greement !  for  what  ? '  says 
he,  laying  down  his  grate  outlandish  pipe.  '  Whew ! 
maybe  ye  don't  know,'  says  I.  '  Not  I,'  says  he. 
1  The  wheat-field,'  says  I.  '  Why,'  says  he,  *  didn't  I 
tell  you  then,  that  you  must  bring  the  'greement 
to  me  by  that  day  week  ? — and  that  was '  (by  the 
same  token  pulling  a  red  memorandum  book  out 
of  his  pocket),  'let  me  see — exactly  this  day  three 
weeks.  Do  you  think,  Mr.  Garraty,'  he  goes  on, 
'  that  I  was  going  to  wait  upon  you  ?  I  don't  lose 
my  papers  in  the  Irish  fashion.'  Well,  that  last  set 
me  up — and  I  had  the  ill-luck  to  knock  him  down  ; 
and,  the  coward,  what  does  he  do  but  takes  the  law 
o'  me — and  I  was  cast,  and  lost  the  sale  of  the 
wheat,  and  was  ordered  to  pay  ever  so  much  money. 
Well,  I  didn't  care  to  pay  it  then,  but  gave  an  engage- 
ment ;  and  I  meant  to  see  about  it — but  forgot ; 
and,  all  in  a  jiffy,  came  a  thing  they  call  an  execu- 
tion ;  and  to  stop  the  cant,1  I  was  forced  to  borrow 
money  from  the  tame  negur,  the  exciseman — and 
it's  a  terrible  case  to  be  paying  interest  for  it  still'' 
"  But,  Philip,  you  might  give  up  or  dispose  of  part 
of  your  farm.  I  know  you  could  get  a  good  sum 
of  money  for  that  rich  meadow  by  the  river." 

1  Cant— sale. 


"WE'LL  SEE  ABOUT  IT"  83 

"  True  for  ye,  ma'am  dear,  and  I've  been  seeing 
about  it  for  a  long  time,  but  somehow  /  have  no 
luck.  Just  as  ye  came  up,  I  was  thinking  to  myself 
that  the  gale-day  is  passed,  and  all  one  as  before. 
Yarra  a  pin's  worth  have  I  for  the  rint ;  and  the 
landlord  wants  it  as  bad  as  I  do,  though  it's  a 
shame  to  say  that  of  a  gintleman — for,  jist  as  he 
was  seeing  about  some  old  custodium,  or  something 
of  the  sort,  that  had  been  hanging  over  the  estate 
ever  since  he  came  to  it,  the  sheriff's  officers  put 
executioners  in  the  house ;  and  I  am  sartin  he'll  be 
racking  me  for  the  money — indeed,  the  ould  hunts- 
man tould  me  as  much.  But  I  must  see  about  it 
— not  indeed  that  it's  much  good,  for  I've  no  luck." 

"  Let  me  beg  of  you,  Philip,  not  to  take  such  an 
idea  into  your  head.  Do  not  lose  a  moment ;  you 
will  be  utterly  ruined  if  you  do.  Why  not  apply 
to  your  father-in-law  ? — he  is  able  to  assist  you ; 
for  at  present  you  only  suffer  from  temporary  em- 
barrassment." 

"  True  for  ye,  my  lady ;  and,  by  the  blessing  of 
God,  I'll  see  about  if." 

"  Then  go  directly,  Philip." 

"  Directly  !  I  can't,  ma'am  dear,  on  account  of 
the  pigs ;  and  sorra  a  one  I  have  but  myself  to 
keep  them  out  of  the  cabbages,  for  I  let  the 
woman  and  the  grawls  go  to  the  pattern  at 
Killaun.  It's  little  pleasure  they  see,  the  craturs  ! " 

"But  your  wife  did  not  hear  the  huntsman's 
story  ?  " 

"  Och !   ay,  did  she.     But  unless  she  could  give 


84  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

me  a  sheaf  o'  bank-notes,  where  would  be  the  good 
of  her  staying?  But  I'll  see  about  it" 

"  Immediately,  then,  Philip.  Think  of  the  ruin 
that  may  come — nay,  that  must  come — if  you 
neglect  this  matter.  Your  wife,  too — your  family 
reduced  from  comfort  to  starvation — your  home 
desolate " 

"  Asy,  my  lady  ! — don't  be  after  breaking  my 
heart  intirely.  Thank  God,  I  have  seven  as  fine 
flahulagh  children  as  ever  peeled  pratee,  and  all 
under  twelve  years  ould ;  and  sure  I'd  lay  down 
my  life  tin  times  over  for  every  one  o'  them :  and 
to-morrow  for  sartin — no — to-morrow — the  hurl- 
ing; I  can't  to-morrow;  but  the  day  after,  if  I'm  a 
living  man,  fll see  about  it" 

Poor  Philip !  his  kindly  feelings  were  valueless, 
because  of  his  unfortunate  habit.  Would  that  this 
were  the  only  example  I  could  produce  of  the  ill 
effects  of  that  dangerous  little  sentence,  "  Fll  see 
about  it!"  Oh  that  the  sons  and  daughters  of 
the  fairest  island  that  ever  heaved  its  green  bosom 
above  the  surface  of  the  ocean  would  arise  and  be 
doing  what  is  to  be  done,  and  never  again  rest  con- 
tented with  "  SEEING  ABOUT  IT  "  ! 


BEGGARS 

It  is  impossible  for  those  who  have  been  brought 
up  amid  the  pleasant  scenes  and  teeming  luxuries 
of  England  to  comprehend  the  length  and  breadth 
and  depth  of  Irish  suffering.  They  may  read  of  it 
in  books — they  may  scrutinise  it  in  pictures — but 
how  completely  do  they  fail  to  obtain  even  a  re- 
mote idea  of  what  it  really  is.  The  eye  must  see 
it — the  ear  must  hear  it — to  conceive  of  its  extent 
or  to  appreciate  its  influence ;  and  deeply  dead  to 
every  feeling  of  humanity  must  be  the  heart  from 
which  it  does  not  extort  sympathy. 

"  How  happy,"  said  a  young  Irishman  to  me  the 
other  morning, — "  how  very  happy  you  must  be — 
you  have  no  beggars  in  England  ! " 

I  endeavoured  to  convince  him  that  though  there 
were  but  few  whom  he  would  call  beggars,  there 
was  a  great  deal  of  poverty  in  the  country.  He 
laughed  at  the  notion  of  considering  people  poor 
who  had  a  roof  over  their  heads  and  bread  to  eat, 
and  that,  too,  without  working  for  it ;  and  bade  me 
call  to  mind  the  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands 
without  food,  clothes,  or  dwellings  that  are  scattered 
over  considerably  more  than  half  of  my  unfortunate 

8s 


86  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

country.  He  was  right;  and  yet  within  the  last 
two  months  I  journeyed  from  Bannow  to  the 
county  town  of  Wexford — a  distance  of  more 
than  sixteen  miles — without  encountering  a  single 
beggar,  or  one  who  appeared  to  need  alms.  Our 
way  lay  through  the  highly  cultivated  baronies  of 
Forth  and  Bargy.  I  cannot  give  a  favourable  ac- 
count of  the  state  of  the  road,  for  it  was  jolting 
and  ill-made  as  usual,  winding  to  the  summit  of 
the  mountain  of  Forth,  but  commanding  in  the 
distance  one  of  the  most  extensive — I  may  say 
cultivated — sea-views  I  had  ever  the  good  fortune 
to  behold;  while  the  foreground  was  studded 
with  gentlemen's  seats,  white  and  cheerful  cottages, 
and  a  number  of  castles  and  fortresses  of  the 
olden  time,  scowling  upon  the  earth  in  all  the 
variety  of  tower,  turret,  and  bastion.  I  never  saw 
a  district  so  full  of  the  relics  of  antiquity ;  they 
were  almost  crowded  in  the  landscape,  yet  they 
appeared  as  if  actually  placed  where  they  were 
necessary  to  the  pictorial  effect  of  the  whole.  I 
said  the  sea-view  was  cultivated;  the  expression 
needs  some  explanation.  It  had  signs  of  life  on 
its  vast  expanse — it  was  not  an  immensity  of  water 
floating  in  majesty  until  joined  by  the  horizon :  it 
was  broken  near  the  shore  by  the  peninsula  of 
Ballytigue,  by  the  projection  of  Cape  Forlorn,  by  the 
Saltee  Islands,  and,  far  and  away,  by  the  Tower 
of  Hook,  frowning  on  its  pedestal  upon  the  waves 
that  wrestled  in  the  bay,  and  clambered  the 
rocks  in  gigantic  merriment !  Then  there  was  the 


BEGGARS  87 

long  line  of  smoke  streaking  the  sky,  and  marking 
the  steamer's  course.  There  went  the  widespread 
canvas  of  the  well-stored  merchantman,  proud  of 
its  cargo,  and  yielding  but  little  homage  to  the 
waves  or  winds ;  the  light  skiff  danced  amidst  the 
spray,  while  its  pennon  floated  and  gleamed  in  the 
distance,  more  like  the  tiny  sail  of  the  nautilus  than 
aught  that  could  carry  half  a  dozen  living  creatures, 
either  for  profit  or  pleasure,  upon  the  ocean.  The 
signs  of  existence  and  traffic  floated  upon  the 
waters — you  saw  the  traces  of  life,  but  you  heard 
no  sound.  We  were  completely  above  all  human 
habitations :  we  looked  down  upon  the  peopled 
earth  and  the  majestic  sea.  Sometimes  an 
ambitious  raven  would  whirl  cawing  above  our 
heads;  or  a  peal  of  cheerful  laughter  from  the 
harvest-field  climb  the  rocks,  and  strike  upon  our 
ears  as  sweetly  as  a  "  marriage-bell " — all  else  was 
silent — profoundly  still — the  glowing  sun  above 
our  heads,  the  granite  fortress  of  the  mountain's 
top  mingling  with  the  clouds,  and  this  extensive 
and  beautiful  panorama  at  our  feet.  It  was  a 
scene  never  to  be  forgotten — so  varied,  so  sublime, 
but,  above  all,  so  tranquil !  The  horses  crept 
slowly  on — so  slowly  that,  as  the  coachman  walked 
by  their  side  up  the  hill,  we  could  inquire  the 
names  of  the  different  castles  and  dwellings  within 
view. 

"  How  very  free  this  road  is  from  beggars — we 
have  not  encountered  one  since  we  left  Bannow ! " 

"  Why,  then,  it's  proud  myself  is  to  hear  your 


88  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

honour  say  that  same,"  responded  Andrew,  "  for. 
the  English  quality  are  ever  fauting  the  beggars — 
the  craythers,  though,  God  help  us !  none  of  us  know 
whose  turn  it  may  be  next.  Sure  iff  was  sthruck?- 
what  would  keep  me  from  it?  God  break  hard 
fortune !  I  have  no  one  belonging  to  me,  to  talk 
about,  and  the  end  would  be,  I  should  take  to  the 
road ! " 

"  Why  do  you  not  save  money,  Andrew  ?  Many 
of  the  English  servants  save." 

"  It's  asy  say  Save  !  What  could  a  boy  like  me 
save  ?  'Tis  true  my  mistress  riz  me  to  ten  pounds ; 
but  then  she's  so  cruel  clean  that  the  half  of  it 
goes  for  washing — white  gloves,  and  white  stockings, 
and  white  cravats !  Besides,  where's  the  good  of 
saving  ?  Denying  oneself  everything,  and  then  die 
maybe  afore  the  time  comes  to  spend." 

Irish  all  over,  thought  I.  The  people  here  are 
either  constantly  reasoning,  like  madmen,  right  from 
wrong  principles ;  or,  like  fools,  wrong  from  right 
ones.  In  either  case  they  are  in  error,  and  are  likely 
to  remain  so  until  a  complete  change  is  effected  in 
their  managing  and  management. 

We  soon  entered  the  town  of  Wexford,  unfortun- 
ately too  well  known  in  the  annals  of  Irish  rebel- 
lion and  Irish  violence — violence  exercised  by  the 
party,  under  whatever  name  it  may  be  described, 
that  chanced  for  the  time  to  be  in  the  ascendant. 
It  is  an  ugly,  straggling,  inconvenient,  dirty  town, 
with  noble  quays,  a  new  and  very  pretty  bridge,  a 

1  Fell  ill ;  "struck  of  a  suddent,"  fell  ill  suddenly. 


GIPSIES  ON  THE   ROAD 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,  R.S.A. 


\  vis 


BEGGARS  89 

handsome  bank,  a  curious  court-house  (the  very 
dirtiest,  I  have  heard,  in  Ireland),  and  inhabited 
by  the  most  hospitable  of  hospitable  people.  I 
suppose  what  is  called  society  is  much  upon  a  par 
with  other  country  towns — a  little  love,  a  moderate 
degree  of  friendship,  an  immoderate  degree  of  envy, 
a  due  proportion  of  flirting,  a  circulating  library 
which  has  no  books  to  circulate,  a  reading  club 
where,  as  the  boy  said,  there  was  "  no  nothing,"  a 
favourite  preacher,  and  a  smart  military  detachment. 
I  write  my  description  from  memory  ;  for  during 
my  visit  everything  to  me  was  "  made  pleasant  " — 
everything  except  the  beggars  ! 

"There's  enough  of  'em  here,  any  way,"  said 
Andrew,  turning  round,  as  he  pointed  to  a  multitude 
who  were  waiting  for  us  at  the  door  of  the  great 
inn. 

Good  God !  it  was  a  pitiable  sight — the  host  of 
dirty,  starving  creatures  who  thrust  themselves 
around  the  carriage  door  so  as  completely  to  pre- 
vent its  being  opened.  The  servant  came  round  to 
the  other  side,  which  was  less  blockaded,  and  plac- 
ing his  face  close  to  the  glass,  whispered — 

"  If  yez  will  be  plased  to  throw  a  few  halfpence 
among  them,  it 'ill  scatter  them,  my  lady,  and  then 
you  can  get  out." 

A  few  halfpence!  To  look  upon  the  moving 
mass  of  starvation  and  misery,  one  would  have 
imagined  that  the  wealth  of  Croesus  would  go  but 
a  short  way  to  alleviate  their  distress.  One  of  the 
group — a  tall,  lithesome  fellow,  with  rolling  black 


9O  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

eyes  and  a  pitiable  vacancy  of  look — grasped  the 
carriage-lamp,  or  rather  the  part  where  the  lamp 
should  have  been,  and  swung  himself  backwards 
and  forwards,  singing  out,  "  A  penny  for  Johnny, 
a  penny  for  Johnny.  Long  life  to  the  King  and 
O'Connell — O'Connell  and  the  King!  A  penny 
for  Johnny,  and  anotJier  for  Jack.  Poor  Jack  !  poor 
Johnny !  poor  Johnny !  poor  Jack  ! "  "  Don't  mind 
him,  lady  dear,"  shouted  a  woman,  the  upper  part 
of  whose  form  was  enveloped  in  a  coarse  blue  cloth 
cloak,  while  from  over  either  shoulder  lolled  forth 
the  head  and  arms  of  a  squalid,  half-starved  child. 
"  Sure,  he's  a  fool,  and  the  fools  never  want — every 
one  gives  to  the  fools,  to  set  off  their  own  sense. 
Look  at  me,  and  God  bless  your  sight ! — look  at  me, 
with  nothing  but  a  blind  man — (come  here,  Dan'el ; 
lead  him  forward,  Lanty) — nothing  but  a  blind  man 
for  a  father  over  my  ten  children."  "  But  see  here, 
your  honour,  look  at  me,  with  as  good  as  eleven, 
and  no  father  at  all  over  them  ! "  interrupted  another, 
who,  not  being  encumbered  with  two  living  creatures 
on  her  back,  was,  I  suppose,  better  able  to  fight  her 
way  and  maintain  her  station  at  the  carriage  door. 
"  Stand  back,  Mary  Shiels,  ma'am  ! "  exclaimed  a 
third  ;  "  what  a  brag  you  make  about  your  children 
— and  every  one  of  them  far  away,  barring  those  ye 
borrow  for  a  set-off.  Eleven,  indeed ! — it's  asy  for 
the  likes  o'  you  to  have  double  eleven,  when  you 
never  cares  what  comes  o'  them  ! "  This  address, 
delivered  to  Mrs.  Mary  Shiels,  was  given  in  a  tone 
and  with  an  air  of  what  I  should  imagine  Billings- 


BEGGARS  pi 

gate  eloquence  :  the  head  thrown  back,  the  arms  a- 
kimbo,  the  voice  wound  to  a  high  pitch,  and  the  eye 
discoursing  as  rapidly  and  decidedly  as  the  tongue ; 
but  as  the  second  part  of  her  speech  was  addressed 
to  ourselves,  the  attitude,  air,  manner,  and  voice 
changed  miraculously,  and  was  delivered  in  a  draw- 
ling brogue :  "  God  mark  ye  to  grace,  and  bestow 
a  trifle  upon  the  poor  widdy,  the  raal  widdy.  Give 
her  a  teaster,  or  a  little  sixpence,  just  to  keep  her 
from  starving  !  Sure,  it's  yerselves  have  the  kind 
heart !  See  here  the  hardship  God  sent  upon  me," 
and  she  lifted  a  child  distorted  in  all  its  limbs,  and 
in  the  lowest  state  of  idiotcy,  close  up  to  the  window. 
The  miserable  creature  clapped  its  twisted  hands 
together,  and  as  the  thick  matted  hair  fell  over 
its  small  dull  eyes,  and  it  scratched  at  the  glass 
like  some  wild  animal  seeking  to  disinter  its  prey, 
I  thought  I  had  never  seen  so  painful  or  disgusting 
a  spectacle.  Those  unfortunate  idiots,  which  in 
England  are  confined  in  proper  asylums,  in  Ireland 
are  reared  to  excite  compassion  from  the  traveller ; 
and  I  think  that  at  least  every  tenth  family  is  cursed 
with  one  of  those  helpless  creatures.  You  meet 
them  by  the  wayside,  in  the  cottages,  basking  in 
the  sunshine,  wallowing  with  the  pigs  upon  the 
dunghills,  and  always  soliciting  alms,  which  is 
hardly  ever  denied  them.  Many  of  those  witless 
beings,  as  they  grow  up,  attain  a  degree  of  cunning 
which,  with  a  species  of  animal  instinct,  they 
manage  to  turn  to  good  account.  And  what  are 
called  Naturals,  in  the  expressive  idiom  of  the 


92  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

country,  form  a  class  perfectly  unknown  in  any 
other  land.  But  this  topic  I  have  treated  elsewhere. 
To  return  to  the  beggars.  Let  it  not  be  imagined 
that  the  few  I  have  specified  were  the  only  ones 
who  demanded  gifts :  there  were  blind,  and  lame, 
and  drunk,  and  sober — but  all  civil,  and  all  tolerably 
good-tempered — exercising  their  eloquence  or  their 
wit,  as  it  might  chance,  upon  their  auditory,  and 
intent  upon  extorting  money  from  our  compassion. 
My  feelings  were  at  the  time  too  strongly  excited 
to  be  amused,  though  one,  a  bocher>  or  lame  man, 
succeeded  in  clearing  a  space  that  he  might  give 
my  honour  a  dance,  while  "  Piping  Brady,"  an  old, 
blind,  white-headed  man,  "  set  up  the  pipes  "  to  the 
exhilarating  tune  of  "St.  Patrick's  Day,"  which 
acted  like  magic  upon  the  group.  "  Poor  Johnny, 
poor  Jack,"  who  had  continued  whirling  round  and 
round,  keeping  up  his  petition  and  singing  it  in 
every  variety  of  tone,  fixed,  like  Ixion,  upon  the 
wheel ;  and  as  the  decrepit  creature  jumped  to  the 
music  with  extraordinary  rapidity,  and  flourished 
his  crutch  in  the  air,  the  whole  assembly  seemed 
spell-moved,  the  old  men  and  old  women  beating 
time  with  their  feet  and  sticks,  and  snapping  their 
fingers  at  the  conclusion  of  every  bar;  and  the 
children,  forgetful  of  their  misery,  dancing  in  right- 
down  earnest,  their  pale  cheeks  flushing  with  exer- 
cise, and  their  rags  quivering  about  them. 

Nearer  to  the  door  of  the  inn  stood  a  girl — I 
could  hardly  call  her  a  woman — who  had  asked  for 
charity  with  the  silent  eloquence  of  her  eyes,  but 


BEGGARS  93 

had  neither  pressed  forward  nor  been  excited  by 
the  music.  The  hood  of  her  long  blue  cloak  was 
thrown  over  her  head,  and  shadowed  the  upper  part 
of  her  beautiful  face ;  her  eyes  were  mild  and  blue 
— they  might  have  been  bright  once,  but  their  lustre 
was  dimmed  by  weeping;  and  her  fair  long  hair 
hung  uncombed,  untrained  down  either  side  of  her 
face.  There  was  something  so  classic  in  her  form 
that  it  called  to  mind  those  Grecian  models  where 
the  drapery  clings  so  closely  that  you  imagine  it 
adheres  to  the  form — the  falling  shoulders,  the  out- 
line of  the  graceful  back  were  distinctly  marked, 
and  she  had  gathered  the  folds  up  in  front  to  cover 
a  sleeping  infant,  which  she  clasped  to  her  bosom, 
so  that  the  cloak,  thus  confined,  fell  in  many  and 
thick  folds  nearly  to  her  ankles,  which,  of  course, 
were  divested  of  any  covering.  The  bocher's  dance 
was  finished,  and  well  pleased  were  the  exhibitors 
to  receive  a  silver  sixpence  between  them — three- 
pence for  the  piper,  threepence  for  the  dancer. 
"  Poor  Jack,  poor  Johnny,"  recommenced  his  tune 
and  whirl,  and  the  beggars  invented  fresh  miseries. 
"  Why,  then,  'twas  a  lucky  dream  I  had  last  night 
brought  me  to  the  town  to-day ! "  exclaimed  one  of 
the  score  who  followed  us  under  the  very  porch, 
"  and  maybe  ye'd  listen  to  it  ? — I  dreamed  I  was 
down  in  the  very  bottom  of  a  paytee  pit,  and  three 
magpies  came  flying  over  my  head,  and  one,  God 
save  us!  was  like  the  gauger  that  broke  my 
husband  by  his  lies,  and  the  other  was  the  very 
moral  of  that  handsome  gentleman ;  and  sure  it's 


94  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

myself  sees  the  likeness  in  your  sweet  self,  lady,  to 
t'other  mag ! " 

"  A  hole  in  yer  ballad  ! "  exclaimed  one  voice. — 
"  A  hole  in  yer  manners ! "  shouted  another. — 
"  Liken  a  fair- faced  lady  to  a  magpie,  Judy  ! "  vo- 
ciferated a  third. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  replied  the  impenetrable  Judy, 
"  why  not  ?  Isn't  a  magpie  a  knowin'  bird,  and  a 
handsome  bird,  and  a  fine  bird  ?  " 

"Yet  ye  said  he  was  like  the  gauger  just  now," 
answered  a  little  grey-eyed,  cunning-looking  man. 

"  People  may  be  like  each  other,  and  yet  not  the 
same  at  all  at  all ;  ye're  like  yer  father,  Tim,  and 
yet  he  was  six  feet  high.  He  was  an  honest  man, 
Tim. — Neighbours  dear,"  she  continued,  appealing 
to  the  crowd, "  do  any  of  ye  see  any  likeness  betwixt 
Tim  an'  his  father  in  that  way  ?  "  There  was  a  loud 
laugh,  and  Tim  shrunk  behind,  while  Judy  went  on — 

"Well,  the  last  magpie  said  to  me,  says  she, 
'  Never  heed  the  gauger/  (and  sure  I  saw  in  a 
minute  it  wasn't  a  magpie  at  all,  but  yer  darlint 
self  was  in  it),  'for  I'll  give  ye  an  English  half- 
crown  to  buy  a  blanket  and  linsey  woolsey  to  make 
ye  a  petticoat ' — what,  God-break  hard  fortune  !  I've 
not  had  these  five  years." 

"  Oh,  a  penny,  any  way,  lady  dear,  to  keep  the 
cold  from  my  heart ! "  roared  another. 

"There's  twopence  for  you,"  exclaimed  my 
companion,  "  if  you  will  promise  not  to  drink  it." 
"  Success ! "  exclaimed  the  fellow,  catching  the  half- 
pence gaily  in  his  hand,  "  I'll  do  that  s 


BEGGARS  95 

minute,"  and  off  he  went  to  the  whisky  shop,  where, 
unfortunately,  three  parts  of  the  Irish  spend  what 
little  they  can  obtain. 

We  distributed  perhaps  more  than  we  ought 
amongst  the  crowd,  for  which  our  worthy  landlady 
reproved  us  while  directing  her  maid,  a  slipslop, 
capless  girl  to  dust  everything  in  the  house  barring 
the  pictures,  which  must  not  be  touched,  which  she 
never  would  have  touched  since  Ally  Kelly  rubbed 
out  his  reverence's  nose  with  her  scrubbing-brush 
and  cleanliness. 

I  have  been  often  much  -astonished  at  the — not 
apathy,  for  that  is  the  last  fault  the  Irish  can  be 
accused  of — indifference  manifested,  particularly  by 
the  middle  class  of  society,  to  the  horrid  misery 
of  the  poor.  You  cannot  walk  out  in  a  country 
town  without  meeting  at  every  turn  a  population 
of  poverty.  I  have  attempted  to  count  the  beggars 
— I  found  it  impossible ;  the  barefooted  creatures 
were  beyond  number — and  yet  the  shopkeepers  and 
tradespeople,  nay,  the  greater  part  of  the  gentry,  do 
not  appear  pained  or  distressed  by  the  recurrence 
of  such  scenes  as  freeze  a  stranger's  blood,  and 
make  him  hasten  to  quit  a  country  where  the 
degrading  wretchedness  of  his  fellow-creatures 
seems  to  upbraid  him  for  the  indulgence  of  his 
smallest  luxury. 

"Lord,  ma'am,"  said  the  landlady,  "we  have 
more  beggars  in  our  county  than  in  almost  any 
other,  and  it  is  useless  to  attempt  to  suppress  them 
or  lessen  their  numbers ;  they  spring  up  like  mush- 


96  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

rooms.  The  man  sets  off  to  make  English  hay  and 
gather  in  the  English  harvest,  and  then  the  woman 
shuts  the  door  of  her  cabin,  rolls  her  infant  in  her 
blanket,  secures  the  blanket  on  her  back  by  turning 
the  tail  of  her  gown  over  it :  the  eldest  girl  carries 
the  kettle,  the  eldest  boy  the  begging  bag,  the  middle 
ones  have  nothing  to  carry,  and  a  couple  of  younger 
children  hang  by  the  mother's  cloak ;  and  so  they 
travel  from  place  to  place,  and  there's  none  of  the 
farmers  will  refuse  them  a  lock  of  straw  to  sleep  on, 
a  shed  to  sleep  under,  a  mouthful  of  potatoes,  or  a 
dole  of  meal.  They  are  much  happier  than  they 
look,  and  by  the  time  the  winter  closes  in,  why,  the 
husband  comes  home,  and  then  they  live  maybe 
comfortable  enough  till  the  next  spring,  when  the 
mother,  with  the  addition  most  likely  of  another 
child  to  roll  in  the  blanket,  again  shuts  the  door, 
and  again  wanders  through  the  country,  while  the 
husband  repeats  his  visit  to  England,  where  he  is 
well  fed  and  well  paid." 

"  How  wretched  ! "  I  exclaimed. 

"I  dare  say  it  seems  so  to  you,  ma'am,"  she 
replied,  "  but  they  are  used  to  it — they  do  not  feel 
it  a  disgrace ;  and  many  a  fine  man  and  woman  is 
reared  that  way,  after  all." 

"  To  what  purpose  ?  "  I  almost  unconsciously  in- 
quired. 

"  Purpose,"  she  repeated, — as  the  Irish  generally 
do  when  they  hear  a  word  whose  import  they  do 
not  clearly  comprehend, — "  why,  as  to  purpose,  the 
boys,  in  the  time  of  the  war,  used  to  make  fine 


BEGGARS  97 

soldiers.  I  don't  exactly  see  what  all  the  little 
garsoons  who  are  growing  up  now  are  to  do — go 
to  America,  I  suppose,  or  beg,  or " 

"  Starve ! "  I  added. 

"  Ay,  indeed  ! "  she  replied,  but  without  any 
emotion,  "  so  they  do  starve  by  dozens  and  dozens 
up  the  country ;  and  my  husband  says  it's  a  sin  to 
send  so  many  pigs  and  things  to  England,  and  the 
poor  craythurs  here  without  food." 

"  And  yet  your  provisions  are  so  cheap — I  saw 
fine  chickens  to-day  for  eightpence  a  couple." 

"Is  it  eightpence?"  exclaimed  the  landlady  in 
amazement.  "  Ah,  lady  dear,  they  knew  you  were 
a  stranger — catch  them  asking  me  eightpence !  I 
could  get  the  finest  chicks  in  the  market  forsixpence- 
halfpenny  a  couple :  eightpence  indeed  !  Oysters 
are  up  to  tenpence  a  hundred,  and  potatoes  to 
twopence  a  stone — and  more  shame,  now  that  the 
country  is  poorer  than  ever ;  but  what  signifies  the 
price,  when  the  poor  have  not  it  to  give  ?  " 

"  But  why  do  they  not  work  ?  " 

"  Who  stays  in  the  country,  except  one  here  and 
there,  to  give  them  work  ?  Ah !  it's  easy  for  the 
fine  English  folk  to  make  laws  for  us,"  she  added, 
her  broad,  good-humoured  face  assuming  a  more 
animated  expression ;  "  it's  easy  for  them  to  make 
laws — they  who  have  never  been  with  us,  and  know 
nothing  of  us,  except  from  what's  on  the  papers, 
which  are  done  up  by  this  party  or  that  party, 
without  any  regard  to  truth,  only  all  for  party. 
Sure  myself  and  my  husband  were  burnt  to  ashes 
7 


98  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

in  the  Independent  (the  newspaper) — and  all,  they 
said,  through  a  mistake — and  we  here  quiet  and 
happy — more  than  many  wished.  But  there's 
Mrs.  Lanagan,  I  ask  yer  pardon,  but  may  I  just 
inquire  how  she  is?  She  came  to  me  for  a  bad 
pain  she  had  on  her  chest,  and  I  gave  her  a  blister 
to  put  on  it."  I  requested  Mrs.  Lanagan  might 
walk  in,  and  in  she  came,  a  delicate-looking 
woman,  with  a  harsh,  deep  cough. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Lanagan,"  commenced  the  hostess, 
"  how  are  you  to-day  ? " 

"  Oh,  then,  thank  you  kindly  for  asking ;  sorra  a 
boillah  on  me  at  all  at  all.1  I  was  pure  and  hearty 
yesterday,  but  I'm  entirely  overcome  to-day.  I've 
been  out  among  the  Christians,  looking  for  a  trifle ; 
but  the  regular  ones  gets  the  better  of  me ;  and  the 
farmers'  wives  have  little  pity  for  us,  as  long  as 
we're  able  to  keep  the  roof  over  our  head." 

"  But  your  chest,  Mrs.  Lanagan — did  you  put  the 
blister  on  your  chest  as  you  promised,  and  did  it 
rise  ?  "  inquired  the  landlady. 

The  poor  woman  'looked  up,  with  an  expression 
of  simplicity  I  shall  never  forget,  while  she  replied — 

"  Why,  thin,  mistress  dear,  the  niver  a  chest  had 
I  to  put  it  on,  but  I  have  a  little  bit  of  a  box,  and  I 
put  it  upon  that,  but  sorra  a  rise  it  rose  ;  and  if  ye 
don't  believe  me,  come  and  see,  for  it's  stickin'  there 
still!" 

This  affected  my  gravity,  or  rather  destroyed  it ; 

1  I  cannot  translate  this  literally,  but  it  means,  I  am  not  at  all 
better. 


BEGGARS  99 

but  the  landlady  commenced  a  regular  lecture  upon 
the  stupidity  of  ignorance,  which  she  intended  me 
to  understand  as  the  evidence  of  her  superiority. 
She  assured  Mrs.  Lanagan  that  she  was  ashamed 
of  her,  and  that  it  was  such  as  she  who  brought 
shame  and  disgrace  upon  her  country. 

"  Why,  thin,"  replied  the  woman, "  as  to  disgrace, 
mistress,  honey,  it  is  not  our  faut  if  we're  not  taught 
better,  for  no  one  can  call  us  stupid,  barrin'  they're 
stupid  themselves" 

It  will  scarcely  be  believed,  yet  it  is  true,  that  I 
was  tempted  once  more  to  ascend  a  "jaunting 
car  "  :  it  is  a  weakness  to  be  overcome  by  persuasion, 
a  desperate  weakness,  and  yet  I  could  not  help  it. 
The  car  was  new,  handsome,  and  the  property  of  a 
kind  friend :  there  were  many  things  I  must  see 
— Johnstown  Castle  and  the  lower  portion  of 
the  Barony  of  Forth,  celebrated  for  fresh  eggs, 
sweet  butter,  and  pretty  girls.  I  esteem  fresh  eggs 
as  a  rarity,  and  I  dearly  love  pretty  girls.  I 
cannot  understand  how  a  person  can  ever  look 
without  a  smile  into  a  pretty  face ;  it  is  a  sentiment, 
a  point  of  feeling  with  me.  And  certainly  the  girls 
of  the  Barony  of  Forth — or,  as  they  call  it,  Barny 
Fort — are  very,  very  pretty,  well  worth  going  even 
ten  miles,  but  not  on  a  jaunting  car,  to  look  at: 
their  eyes  are  so  bright  and  black,  their  hair 
superb,  and  their  manners  so  shy,  so  winning,  so 
— I  hardly  know  how  to  define  it,  except  from 
their  being  so  un-English,  so  unstarched.  Nor  do 
I  know  a  prettier  sight  than  three  or  four  dozen  of 


IOO  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

those  nice,  clean,  smiling,  blushing  girls  drawn  up 
at  either  side  of  a  dirty,  hilly,  ugly  street  in  ugly 
Wexford  on  market-day.  Their  clean  willow- 
baskets  hanging  from  their  well-turned  arms,  their 
green  or  crimson  silk  neckerchiefs  carefully  pinned 
and  the  ends  in  front  drawn  beneath  their  neat 
chequered  aprons,  while  at  every  step  you  take 
you  are  saluted  with:  "New-laid  eggs,  my  lady, 
three  a  penny." — "  Sweet  fresh  butter." — "  Beautiful 
lily-white  chickens,  my  own  rearing." — "  I'm  sellin' 
these  bran-new  turkey  eggs  for  a  song,  for  I'm 
distressed  for  the  money  to  make  up  the  price  of 
the  cotton  to  weave  in  with  my  own  yarn." 

"  I'll  sing  you  five  songs  for  them,  Patty ! "  ex- 
claimed a  wag. 

"  Oh,  let  us  alone,  Peter,  and  don't  make  us  forfit 
our  manners  by  breaking  your  head  before  the 
quality ;  it's  a  bad  market  we'd  be  bringing  our 
eggs  to  if  we  let  you  have  them  ! " 

I  have  seen  many  more  superb  market-places, 
but  I  never  saw  so  many  pretty  girls  as  in  the  ugly 
town  of  Wexford. 

Having  agreed  once  more  to  perform  dos-a-dos 
upon  the  aforenamed  car,  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
suffer  more  than  ever  from  the  beggars ;  but  I  found 
they  always  assembled  in  proportion  to  what  they 
considered  the  greatness  of  the  equipage.  Thus  a 
car  would  attract  less  attention  amongst  these 
knight-errants  of  poverty  than  a  carriage ;  and  as 
two  carriages  were  standing  at  the  door  of  the 
principal  inn,  we  passed  comparatively  free.  The 


BEGGARS  IOI 

Irish  have  an  idea  that  upon  those  dos-a-dos  you 
see  the  country  better  than  from  any  other  machine 
— heaven  help  them  !  they  have  strange  ideas  on 
many  subjects.  We  passed  through  the  town  with 
not  more  than  a  score  of  beggars  dangling  after  us 
and  repeating  their  petitions  in  every  variety  of 
tone — thrusting  their  idiot  and  half-starved  children 
almost  into  our  arms,  making  us  exceedingly  angry 
at  one  minute  by  their  importunity  and  noise,  and 
the  next  amusing  us  so  much  by  their  wit  and  good 
temper  that  we  could  bestow  upon  them  half,  nay 
all,  our  money  with  goodwill ;  at  one  time  provoked 
by  their  dirt  and  indolence,  and  again  sympathising 
most  sincerely  with  their  poverty  and  distress. 
You  are  perpetually  excited  by  either  displeasure, 
pain,  or  amusement,  and  you  can  hardly  tell  which 
preponderates.. 

After  much  jolting  and  delay,  we  passed  the 
suburbs,  and  there,  beneath  the  trunk  of  a  blasted 
tree,  her  entire  figure  shrouded  in  her  cloak,  sat 
the  girl  whose  appearance  had  attracted  my  notice 
amongst  the  crowd  on  a  former  occasion.  I  could 
not  see  her  face,  even  her  hair  was  concealed  by 
the  hood  which  fell  unto  her  knees  ;  but  I  felt 
assured  I  could  not  be  mistaken — the  rounded 
shoulder,  the  graceful  sweep  of  the  back,  all  con- 
vinced me  I  was  right. 

I  ordered  the  servant  to  stop.  I  called  to  her — 
there  was  no  reply.  I  sprang  off  the  car;  I  drew 
back  the  hood  of  her  cloak — still  she  moved  not. 
Her  hair  had  fallen  like  a  shroud  over  her  features, 


102  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

and  upon  the  baby  which  was  pressed  to  her  bosom. 
I  threw  back  her  hair,  and  laid  my  hand  upon  her 
forehead  ;  it  was  clammy  and  cold  as  with  the 
damps  of  death  !  I  attempted  to  move  her  head 
back,  and,  sinking  on  my  knees,  looked  into  her 
face.  It  was  as  the  face  of  a  corpse  before  the 
features  have  been  decently  composed  by  the  hand 
of  the  living :  the  purple  lips  were  parted,  the  teeth 
clenched,  the  eye  fixed,  the  hollow  cheek  white  as 
marble.  I  saw  that  the  infant  moved,  and  I  tried 
to  unclasp  her  arms  from  around  it — I  even  suc- 
ceeded in  pulling  the  little  creature  in  some  degree 
from  her  embrace.  But  the  mother's  love  was 
stronger  than  death :  rigid,  lifeless  as  she  appeared, 
she  felt  what  I  was  doing ;  her  arms  tightened  round 
her  baby,  and  her  lips  moved  as  if  in  speech.  The 
child  cried,  and  clung  to  the  breast  from  which  it 
could  draw  no  sustenance ;  and  the  miserable  parent 
grasped  it  with  an  earnestness  which  almost  made 
me  tremble  lest  she  should  crush  out  its  little  life. 
The  cloak  had  fallen  from  her ;  but  I  quickly  drew 
it  over  her  shoulders,  for  I  perceived  that  she  was 
entirely  destitute  of  any  other  covering  except 
some  tattered  flannel  that  had  been  wound  round 
her  waist.  The  case  was  sufficiently  plain — mother 
and  child  were  dying  of  starvation. 

In  a  few  minutes  we  succeeded  in  conveying 
them  to  the  nearest  cottage — a  perfectly  Irish 
dwelling,  a  little  away  from  the  road ;  and  it  was 
really  heart-cheering  to  witness  the  eagerness  which 
the  inhabitants  evinced  to  restore  the  poor  creature 


BEGGARS  IO3 

to  existence.  Big  and  little,  old  and  young 
hastened  to  do  their  best.  It  is  not  at  any  time 
difficult  to  draw  the  Irish  from  their  employment, 
but  now  that  they  had  an  object  worthy  of  their 
energy,  they  exerted  it  heart  and  soul.  One  wanted 
to  force  raw  whisky  down  the  throats  of  mother 
and  child  ;  but  the  more  rational  poured  the  water 
off  some  boiling  potatoes  to  prepare  a  warm  bath. 
While  the  old  deaf  mother  of  the  family  mixed 
some  spirits  in  milk,  and  gave  it  spoonful  by  spoon- 
ful to  the  young  woman,  a  pretty  girl  (one  of  my 
market  beauties,  who,  like  myself,  was  accidentally 
passing),  to  whom  the  mother  had  resigned  it,  fed 
the  little  infant  with  new  milk. 

"  It's  poor  Milly  Kane — God-break  hard  for- 
tune ! "  said  one,  who  was  shaking  a  quantity  of 
barley-straw  in  the  "  warm  corner  "  for  her  visitors 
to  lie  upon.  "  It's  poor  Milly  Kane,  sure  enough  ! 
And  had  you  seen  her  this  time  two  years,  madam, 
when  she  was  the  lily,  the  pride  of  the  whole 
parish,  it's  little  you'd  fancy  you  see  her  there 
how ! " 

"  Has  she  known  better  days  ?  "  I  inquired,  when 
about  to  leave  the  cottage. 

"Better,"  repeated  the  old  crone,  shaking  her 
head,  "ay,  sure;  you  see  how  finely  she's  come  to. 
And  indeed  I'll  mind  what  you  say,  and  only  give 
her  a  sup  or  a  bit  now  and  agin.  It  was  a  mercy 
you  seen  her  when  you  did,  for  half  an  hour  more 
would  have  finished  them  both." 

"  But  you  say  that  she  has  received  food  and 


104  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

clothing  from  many  well-disposed  individuals — how 
is  it,  then,  that  she  is  so  dreadfully  reduced  ?  " 

"  Did  I  say  so  ?  Why,  then,  more  shame  for  me ; 
maybe  it's  into  trouble  I'd  be  getting  her,"  replied 
the  woman  hastily;  and  I  could  draw  forth  no 
further  information.  There  are  circumstances  and 
people  which  occupy  so  much  of  one's  attention  in 
this  world  that  it  is  impossible  to  banish  them  from 
the  mind  ;  and  yet,  to  all  outward  seeming,  they 
are  in  no  way  different  from  twenty  other  things 
or  persons  we  encounter.  When  we  returned  from 
our  ride,  we  were  surrounded  by  all  the  beggars, 
who,  now  that  the  carriages  were  gone,  had  no 
other  object  to  attract  their  attention  ;  yet  there 
was  one  figure  my  imagination  conjured  up,  which 
remained  before  me  far  more  palpably  than  those 
who,  with  strength  of  voice  and  energy  of  action, 
called  aloud  for  charity. 

As  the  evening  drew  in,  I  borrowed  a  rough  rug 
cloak,  and,  taking  a  few  trifles  with  me  that  I 
thought  would  be  useful  to  poor  Milly  Kane, 
I  was  soon  at  the  door  of  the  cottage  in  which  I 
had  been  so  hospitably  received.  The  door  was 
fastened,  carefully  fastened  on  the  inside;  it  had 
neither  lock  nor  bolt,  but  a  chest  and  table  had 
been  placed  against,  it — and  they  were  not  removed 
until  my  voice  had  been  remembered. 

"  Do  you  shut  up  so  early  ?  " 

"Sure,  then,  we  wouldn't  have  shut  up  at  all 
had  we  known  the  good  luck  that  was  coming  to 
us,  my  lady,"  replied  the  woman,  curtseying. 


BUYING  CHINA 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,   R.S  A 


BEGGARS  105 

"Well,  how  is  your  patient?  Better,  I  hope? 
Where  is  she  ? " 

"  She's  better,  my  lady,  and  she's  gone." 

"  Gone ! "  I  repeated  in  astonishment,  perceiving 
that  the  woman  had  spoken  truly  in  one  sense,  at 
all  events  ;  for  she  had  quitted  the  "  warm  corner." 
"Gone!  Where?" 

"  Oh,  myself  knows  nothing  at  all  about  Milly 
Kane  and  her  goings ;  only  one  came  for  her." 

"  One  !     Who  ? " 

"  Oh,  some  boy  or  another.  Maybe  it  was  her 
father,  only  he's  dead,  poor  man." 

I  sat  down,  believing  from  my  heart  that  there 
was  some  mystery,  some  concealment  about  Milly's 
disappearance,  which  I  could  not  discover,  and 
which,  of  course,  I  desired  to  fathom. 

"  Where  is  your  husband  ?  " 

"The  never  a  know  I  know  where  he  is,  or  if 
he  is  at  all.  He  left  me  as  good  as  five  years 
now,  to  go  to  Newfoundland ;  and,  God  help  me  ! 
I  never  heard — to  say  heard — of  him  since ;  and 
I  live  by  the  help  of  good  neighbours  and  good 
Christians — like  many  more." 

I  looked  round  the  room  and  perceived  that  a 
quantity  of  what  are  called  "  wattles  "  were  placed 
so  as  to  conceal  a  door  at  the  upper  end  of  it; 
indeed,  I  do  not  think  I  should  have  perceived  it 
had  I  not  fancied  that  I  saw  a  gleam  as  if  of 
candlelight  stream  through  a  chink.  The  woman 
perceived  it  also,  and  with  the  ready  wit  of  her . 
sex  and  country  anticipated  my  question. 


BEGGARS  IO5 

"Well,  how  is  your  patient?  Better,  I  hope? 
Where  is  she  ? " 

"  She's  better,  my  lady,  and  she's  gone." 

"  Gone ! "  I  repeated  in  astonishment,  perceiving 
that  the  woman  had  spoken  truly  in  one  sense,  at 
all  events  ;  for  she  had  quitted  the  "  warm  corner." 
"Gone!  Where?" 

"  Oh,  myself  knows  nothing  at  all  about  Milly 
Kane  and  her  goings ;  only  one  came  for  her." 

"  One  !     Who  ? " 

"  Oh,  some  boy  or  another.  Maybe  it  was  her 
father,  only  he's  dead,  poor  man." 

I  sat  down,  believing  from  my  heart  that  there 
was  some  mystery,  some  concealment  about  Milly's 
disappearance,  which  I  could  not  discover,  and 
which,  of  course,  I  desired  to  fathom. 

"  Where  is  your  husband  ?  " 

"  The  never  a  know  I  know  where  he  is,  or  if 
he  is  at  all.  He  left  me  as  good  as  five  years 
now,  to  go  to  Newfoundland ;  and,  God  help  me  ! 
I  never  heard — to  say  heard — of  him  since;  and 
I  live  by  the  help  of  good  neighbours  and  good 
Christians — like  many  more." 

I  looked  round  the  room  and  perceived  that  a 
quantity  of  what  are  called  "  wattles  "  were  placed 
so  as  to  conceal  a  door  at  the  upper  end  of  it; 
indeed,  I  do  not  think  I  should  have  perceived  it 
had  I  not  fancied  that  I  saw  a  gleam  as  if  of 
candlelight  stream  through  a  chink.  The  woman 
perceived  it  also,  and  with  the  ready  wit  of  her. 
sex  and  country  anticipated  my  question. 


IO6  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  It's  a  bit  of  a  shed  we  put  up  for  the  pigs, 
because  the  quality  lately  have  been  very  angry 
with  us  for  letting  the  craythurs  have  the  run  of 
the  house ;  and  my  Padeen's  in  there  making  'em 
eat.  They're  but  delicate  lately,  owing  to  the 
measles." 

"Indeed!"  I  replied;  "then  that  is  a  healthy 
one,  I  suppose,  that  I  see  lying  under  the  shadow 
of  the  wall?" 

The  old  woman's  keen  eye  glittered  upon  me 
for  a  moment,  with  an  expression  I  did  not  at  all 
like ;  but  she  quickly  answered — 

"  Troth  no,  that's  a  sick  one  intirely  ;  that's  not 
fit  to  be  put  out.  Bonneen  gra,"  she  continued, 
addressing  the  animal,  "  Bonneen  gra,  how's  every 
bit  o'  ye  ?  Bonneen  was  a  heart's  joy,  a  cushla  ! " 
The  brute  grunted,  but  moved  not. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  poor  Milly  is  gone,"  I  said,  pro- 
ducing what  I  had  brought  for  her  from  a  little 
basket,  which  a  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance  very 
disrespectfully  calls  "  a  smuggler." 

"  Maybe  I'd  see  her  to-morrow ;  or  if  you'd  lave 
the  things  with  me,  I'd  send  the  childer  to  hunt  her 
out  in  the  morning,  madam." 

"  How  can  you  expect  me  to  leave  them  with  a 
person  I  know  so  little  of?  " 

The  woman  became  heated  in  a  moment ;  one 
would  have  thought  her  temper  had  hardly  time 
to  ignite  when  it  blazed  out  with  all  the  energy 
of  her  country. 

"  And  ye  wouldn't  trust   me  with  them  bits  o' 


BEGGARS  lO/ 

rags  for  fear  I'd  keep  'em  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Me ! 
Oh,  murder,  how  we  are  belied  to  the  furriners 
entirely !  or  a  lady  like  you  would  never  think 
sich  a  thing.  Keep  from  Milly  Kane  what  was 
given  to  her !  I,  who  many  a  day  have  taken  the 
whole  bit  out  of  my  own  and  the  half  bit  out  of 
my  children's  mouths  to  keep  her  from  starvin" ! 
And  if  I  chose  to  say  what  I  know,  I  could  fill 
this  hand  with  goold,  if  t'other  would  consint  to 
crush  her  heart.  I'm  standin'  on  my  own  flure, 
lady,  or  I'd  tell  ye  my  mind  more  plainly.  All 
Wexford  knows  I'm  poor,  but  the  Almighty  knows 
I'm  honest !  " 

At  this  instant  the  wail  of  a  child  came  from 
what  I  had  been  told  was  the  pig-shed,  at  first 
loud  and  shrill,  then  low  and  suffocated,  with  a 
murmur  of  words  in  different  voices.  At  last  I 
heard  a  weak  female  voice  exclaim,  "  Let  it  cry 
out,  Michael.  Don't  smother  my  babby  ;  let  it 
breathe,"  and  then  the  infant's  voice  rose  higher 
than  at  first.  Suddenly  the  door  I  had  noticed 
was  opened — the  wattles  fell  to  the  ground — and 
a  tall  man  issued  from  the  chamber  with  a  bold, 
firm  step. 

"Oh,  Michaelawn !  Michaelawn!  you're  ruined  en- 
tirely now.  Couldn't  ye  keep  back  ! "  exclaimed 
the  woman. 

"  I'm  ashamed  that  you  kept  me  back  so  long," 
he  replied  ;  "  and  the  lady  here — sure,  only  for 
her,  where  would  Milly  and  my  child  be  now? 
Stretched  cold  corpses  upon  that  table,  instead 


108  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

of  lying  in  that  bed."  I  had  never  seen  a  more 
ruffianly  nor  yet  a  finer-looking  fellow :  his  head 
was  so  well  set,  his  brow  so  bold,  his  bearing  so 
intrepid  that,  either  from  fear  or  respect,  or  a 
mingling  of  both,  I  arose  from  my  seat.  He  in- 
terpreted the  action  to  a  desire  to  see  his  wife,  and 
preceded  me  to  the  room. 

The  pale  mother  attempted  to  support  herself 
on  her  elbow,  but  could  not.  I  drew  near  to  her. 
She  grasped  my  hand,  and  kissed  it  fervently.  I 
laid  my  small  offerings  of  food  and  clothing  on  the 
bed  ;  and  the  little  infant,  whose  cry  had  ceased, 
looked  with  its  large  hungry  eyes  into  my  face. 
I  could  not  forbear  turning  round  to  the  old 
story-teller,  and  saying,  "What  a  prettily  furnished 
sty!" 

She  appeared  angry  and  sulky  ;  but  the  young 
man  spoke  for  her. 

"  If  I  was  caught  this  night  in  Wexford,  I'd  be 
hung  as  high  as  the  steeple  in  a  month." 

"  Michael ! "  said  Milly,  in  a  tone  of  trembling 
terror. 

"  Whisth,  honey,  whisth.  I'll  tell  the  truth,  for 
I  mind  hearing  onct  that  a  lie  is  the  devil's  bait 
to  catch  fresh  sins ;  and  I've  enough  ould  ones 
left.  Well,  that  fear  has  been  over  me  for  as  good 
as  three  weeks ;  and  God  in  heaven  knows  we  had 
a  purty  good  spell  of  starvation  afore  that.  When 
I  begged,  I  was  tould  to  work ;  but  no  one  would 
employ  me,  because " 

"  Michael ! "  interrupted  my  poor  patient. 


BEGGARS  lOp 

"  There,  darlint,  I'll  not  tell — lay  easy,  for  God's 
sake ! — Well,  there  was  a  ship  that  agreed  to  lay 
off  Cape  Forlorn,  to  take  me  an'  five  others  beyant 
seas,  if  we'd  do  the  work  of  the  ship  for  nothing, 
and  these  three  weeks  we've  been  waitin'  for  it; 
and  she  used  to  come  in  and  beg,  and  gather  what 
she  could  in  the  town  all  day,  and  in  the  night 
steal  down  to  us,  where  I  was  hidden,  with  it.  But 
I  little  thought  how  my  jewel  had  reduced  herself 
to  keep  the  bit  and  the  sup  to  me  while  I  stayed 
on  this  cursed  ground ;  and  last  night  we  got  word 
how  the  ship  would  be  there  to-morrow  at  day- 
break, and  when  she  was  laving  me,  as  I  thought 
for  good,  till  I  could  send  for  her  out,  as  I  passed 
my  arm  over  the  cloak  round  her,  I  thought  she 
felt  thin  o'  clothes,  and  I  tould  her  so;  but  she 
turned  it  off,  as  she  always  turned  the  throuble  away 
from  me.  '  I'm  not  as  bare  as  ye  think,'  says  she, 
'  only  the  weather's  warm,  and  I  haven't  strength 
to  carry  much  clothes.'  And  now  for  me  to  see 
that  the  wales  in  her  bleedin'  feet  are  deep  enough 
to  bury  my  finger  in — but  oh !  the  wales  in  my 
heart  are  deeper,  to  think  I  brought  her  to  this  ! " 
The  tears  and  sobs  of  a  strong  man  are  terrible 
to  look  upon  and  hear,  and  he  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands,  to  hide  his  emotion. 

"  Michael !  Michael ! "  repeated  Milly,  "  trust  in 
God  !  Don't  ye  see  the  friend  to  the  fore  that  was 
sent  me  from  a  far  country  ?  Oh !  but  it's  worse 
to  me  than  the  sore  feet  to  see  ye  take  on  so  ! " 

"  And  if  ye  plase,  my  lady,  I'd  never  ha'  said  the 


1 10  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

lie  about  the  pigs,  only  ye  bothered  me  with  sharp 
questions  and  looks,  and  Mick  wouldn't  lave  Milly 
till  the  last,  for  I  thought  she  was  going,  and  sent 
for  him,"  said  the  crone,  with  a  still  lower  curtsey 
than  she  had  greeted  me  with  at  first.  "  And  I 
hope  yer  honour  won't  let  on  that  he's  been  here  ?  " 

"  The  first  gun  I "  exclaimed  a  hoarse  voice 
through  a  broken  window  at  the  head  of  the 
miserable  bed. 

"  Then  I  must  go :  the  ship's  in  sight ;  that's  our 
word,"  returned  Michael.  The  poor  sufferer  fainted 
in  the  last,  perhaps  the  very  last,  embrace  of  her 
husband.  "  I'll  lave  her  so :  if  I  was  to  stay,  I 
couldn't  now  save  her  from  starvation !  "  said  the 
wretched  man:  "but,  lady,  pity  her  still.  If  I'd 
took  the  advice  of  that  poor  broken-hearted  girl,  I 
shouldn't  now " 

"  Mammy !  mammy  !  "  shouted  a  barefooted 
urchin,  rushing  into  the  cabin,  and  who  had  doubt- 
less been  set  on  the  watch ;  "  there's  three  Peelers 
coming  down  the  street,  and  one  has  gone  round 
Martin  Clay's  park  ! " 

Michael  glared  fiercely  round  the  room,  and  seized 
a  pitchfork  that  had  fallen  with  the  wattles. 

"  Fool ! "  said  the  old  ready-witted  story-teller, 
"what's  the  good  of  that?  Crawl  under  the  bed, 
and  we'll  make  it  out."  He  did  as  he  was  desired. 
I  never  experienced  till  that  moment  the  desperate 
anxiety  which  it  is  possible  to  feel  to  defeat  the  ends 
of  justice.  The  man  might  have  been  a  murderer 
— it  was  all  the  same  to  me. 


BEGGARS  1 1 1 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  crone  to  the  scout,  "  and  be 
gettin'  yer  lesson."  The  brat,  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye,  had  obeyed  her  orders,  and,  with  his  finger 
resting  on  the  greasy  page,  was  seated  on  a  boss 
in  the  chimney-corner.  I  was  about  to  administer 
some  restoratives  to  poor  Milly,  but  the  more  ju- 
dicious woman  whispered — 

"  For  God's  sake  let  her  alone ;  if  she  comes  to, 
and  they  here,  she'll  begin  screechin'  for  her  hus- 
band." 

The  policemen  entered.  They  were  both  civil, 
though  they  turned  over  the  wattles,  and  one  of 
them  even  poked  his  staff  beneath  the  bed. 

"  Sit  down  on  the  bed,  a  lannan,"  whispered 
the  director  to  me;  "they  won't  disturb  a  lady, 
though  they'd  think  little  about  'tossicating  the 
poor." 

After  muttering  something  to  each  other,  they 
went  out ;  remaining,  however,  near  the  door. 

"  They're  on  the  watch,  devil's  curse  to  them  ! " 
exclaimed  the  woman.  "  Padeen,"  she  added,  call- 
ing so  loudly  to  the  child  that  they  could  not  avoid 
hearing  her,  "  Padeen,  lay  by  yer  lesson,  good  boy, 
and  go  down  for  a  farthin'  light  to  Mrs.  Gralaher. 
And  harkee,  take  the  broken  chancy  cup  for  a  drop 
of  vinegar  for  the  sick  woman."  As  she  spoke, 
she  beckoned  the  boy  to  her,  and  whispered,  "  Tell 
Mrs.  Gralaher,  for  her  soul's  sake,  to  set  on  a  make- 
b'lieve  fight.  She  knows  the  ould  trick.  To  do  it 
this  minute,  or  it'ill  be  no  good  ;  and  screech  murder 
and  fire ;  and  burn  the  house,  if  there's  nothing  else 


112  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

for  it,  till  these  devils  lave  the  street — which  she 
can  see  from  the  back  windy." 

The  young  rascal  nodded  his  head  and  paddled 
off  with  the  cup  in  his  hand ;  and  so  swiftly  did  he 
do  his  errand  that  in  less  than  ten  minutes  there 
was  a  riot  in  the  street  that  effectually  called  off 
the  police,  and  enabled  the  rapparee  to  escape — not, 
however,  before  he  had  again  embraced  his  wife,  who 
did  not  recover  her  consciousness  for  more  than  an 
hour. 

Poor  Milly  was  not  likely  again  to  require 
friends  :  whatever  her  husband's  crimes  might  have 
been — and  they  were  those,  unhappily,  so  common, 
of  Whiteboyism — she  had  no  participation  in  aught 
but  his  love;  and  instead  of  wanting,  she  hardly 
knew  what  to  do  with  the  treasures  that  were  heaped 
upon  her. 

When  we  were  leaving  Wexford,  the  "  story- 
teller "  made  her  way  through  the  usual  crowd  of 
beggars,  and,  on  the  plea  of  old  acquaintanceship, 
pressed  closely  to  my  side.  "  He's  safe  off,  a 
bouchla — out  o'  the  harbour  and  all ;  and  she's  got 
a  scratch  of  a  pen  from  him  to  say  so !  And  it's 
to  my  thinkin'  she'll  be  soon  after  him — and  why 
not?  But  ye'll  see  herself  presently  at  the  ould 

tree,  and Stand  back,"  she  said, addressing  t^e 

crowd  who  pressed  upon  us ;  "  stand  back,  and  let 
me  spake  to  the  gentlewoman.  It  isn't  charity  I'm 
askin',  so  ye  needn't  keep  starin' — chokin'  with  the 
envy,  like  a  pack  o'  sea-gulls  over  a  cockle-bed. 
And  what  I  was  saying  is,  that,  upon  my  soul,  if  ye 


BEGGARS  113 

come  fifty  times  to  VVexford  (as  pray  God  ye  may), 
I'll  never  tell  ye  another  lie  ! — troth  I  won't.  And 
there's  not  many  as  good  a  story-teller  as  myself 
would  say  that  same." 

I  perfectly  agreed  with  her ;  and  we  proceeded 
on  our  journey  until  we  arrived  at  the  old  tree, 
beneath  whose  shadow  stood  poor  Milly;  while 
somewhat  farther  on  the  little  shoeless,  stockingless 
scout  was,  as  he  expressed  it,  "  playing  at  cuttin' 
throats  "  with  a  still  younger  reprobate — a  nonde- 
script as  to  age  or  sex. 

Milly  was  not  a  person  of  many  words :  true 
sorrow  is  not  eloquent — except  in  its  silence. 

I  thought  I  had  never  seen  a  picture  of  more 
calm  and  placid  beauty,  but  it  was  rather  the 
beauty  of  a  statue  than  of  a  living  woman.  Her 
hair  was  shaded  back,  and  the  thin  snowy  throat 
appeared  hardly  sufficient  to  sustain  the  small 
head  upon  its  slender  pedestal.  Her  cloak  was 
still  drawn  up  in  front  over  her  child,  and  though 
the  infant  retained  the  anxious  expression  attend- 
ant upon  starvation,  it  crowed  at  the  motion  of  its 
own  fingers,  and  was  evidently  gaining  strength. 

She  came  close  to  the  window  of  the  carriage 
and  said — 

"  Will  I  never  see  ye  at  all  again  ?  Are  ye  going 
away  entirely  ?  " 

Her  lip  faltered,  and  her  eyes  were  swimming  in 
tears. 

"  Going,  Milly ;  but  perhaps  not  for  ever." 

"  For  ever  for  me — for  ever  for  me  ;  for  I  shall 
8 


114  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

be  gone  far,  far  before  you  come  back.  But  God 
in  heaven,  who  hears  my  prayer,  will  bless  you 
wherever  you  go !  May  none  belonging  to  you 
ever  know  sin  or  shame !  But,  lady  dear,  he 
wasn't  as  bad  as  people  think — oh  no !  indeed  he 
wasn't  God  bless  you  more  and  more !  but  don't 
think  hard  of  him.  'Twas  the  drink,  and  the  bad 
company — but  'twasn't  himself.  And  sure  what'll 
ail  him  now,  when  he  has  taken  an  oath  against 
the  drink,  and  is  out  of  the  way  of  timptation,  to 
be  as  good  as  he  is  kind,  and,  though  I  say  it, 
handsome ! " 

How  much  better  I  love  women  than  men !  how 
disinterested  and  self-denying  are  my  own  dear 
sex  !  The  worthless  rapparee,  who  deserved  trans- 
portation at  the  very  least,  was  so  idolised  by  that 
pure  and  innocent  creature  that  the  entire  desire 
of  her  heart  was,  not  that  I  should  grant  her  any 
further  relief,  but  that  I  should  think  well  of  her 
good-for-nothing  husband. 

"Twas  the  drink  and  the  bad  company,  but 
'twasn't  himself! " 

There  was  a  distinction ! — none  but  a  loving 
woman  could  have  ever  made  such ! 


NATURALS 

My  English  readers  ought,  perhaps,  to  be  in- 
formed that  the  Irish  natural  is  not  altogether  an 
idiot.  Generally,  there  is  so  much  "  mother  wit " 
mixed  up  with  the  character  as  to  make  it  a  matter 
of  uncertainty  which  predominates,  knave  or  fool. 
Before  I  relate  the  story  of  one  of  them,  I  will 
venture  to  record  a  few  anecdotes  of  some  of  the 
class,  which  may  best  explain  its  peculiarities. 

One  I  particularly  remember,  who  used  to  haunt 
our  house,  our  poultry-yard,  our  orchard,  to  the 
manifest  destruction  of  eggs  and  apples.  He  was 
known  by  the  sobriquet  of  "  Boiled  Jack,"  from  the 
fact  of  his  having,  in  his  childhood,  fallen  into  a 
brewing-copper.  How  he  escaped  with  life  is  a 
marvel,  but  his  left  arm  and  the  left  portion  of 
his  face  were  woefully  distorted  :  only  for  this  he 
would  have  been  a  tall,  handsome  fellow  ;  as  it  was, 
he  had  something  rather  comical  than  disagreeable 
in  his  aspect,  and  certainly  made  his  one  arm  do 
the  business  of  two.  "  Boiled  Jack  "  was  particu- 
larly assiduous  in  his  attentions  to  the  cook,  the 
henwife,  and  the  gardener,  but  to  the  henwife  in 
panicular,  constantly  assisting  her  in  mixing  the 


Il6  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

potatoes  for  the  poultry-yard:  as  she  said,  the 
fowls,  the  craythurs,  were  as  fond  of  "  Boiled 
Jack"  as  of  herself.  In  the  housekeeper's  room 
and  in  the  parlour  there  was  a  perpetual  cry  for 
eggs !  The  cry  continued  day  after  day,  morning 
after  morning,  but  no  eggs  came.  The  nests  were 
searched,  the  henwife  scolded.  The  poor  old  woman 
declared  the  hens  were  good  for  nothing — fed  and 
fat  they  were,  and  yet  they  would  lay  no  eggs. 
This  was  very  provoking;  the  cook  could  make 
no  puddings.  There  was  an  outcry  through  the 
house.  What  is  an  Irish  house  without  plenty  of 
everything,  but  above  all  plenty  of  eggs  ?  "  How 
fat '  Boiled  Jack '  grows  ! "  said  the  cook.  "  So  he 
does,"  echoed  the  butler.  "  And  sings  like  a  night- 
ingale," exclaimed  the  kitchen-maid.  "Sucking 
eggs  makes  sweet  voices,"  chimed  in  Tom  Furlong, 
the  bare-legged  whipper-of-all-work  to  the  estab- 
lishment. "  Boiled  Jack  "  was  sitting  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  and  his  eye  gleamed  upon  poor  little  Tommy 
with  animal  ferocity — but  for  a  moment ;  the  next 
saw  him  sitting  in  the  same  position,  rocking 
backward  and  forward  as  if  nothing  had  disturbed 
him. 

Tommy's  hint  was  not,  however,  lost  upon  the 
quick-witted  Irishwoman.  Partly  by  threats  and 
partly  by  large  bribes,  in  the  shape  of  huge  pieces  of 
"white  bread  and  fresh  butter,"  Tommy  was  induced 
to  tell  all :  that  "  Boiled  Jack  "  had  succeeded  in 
unroofinga  portion  of  the  fowl-house  ;  that  he  robbed 
the  nests  every  morning  at  daybreak  ;  that  the  hens, 


NATURALS  117 

who  knew  him,  made  no  noise ;  and  that,  carefully 
replacing  the  slates,  he  proceeded  with  his  prize 
to  a  sort  of  den  he  had  made  in  the  turf-rick,  and 
there  sat  quietly  sucking  two  or  three  dozen  of  his 
delicate  favourites,  invariably  eating  the  egg-shells 
to  prevent  detection.  "  Boiled  Jack  "  was  watched, 
the  statement  was  found  to  be  correct,  and  "  Boiled 
Jack  "  was  forbidden  by  all  the  servants  to  "  darken 
the  doors  with  his  ugly  carcass"  any  more.  Months 
passed  ;  the  hens  behaved  as  well-fed  hens  should, 
and  Tommy  took  "Boiled  Jack's" place, increasingin 
favour  with  his  increasing  years.  But  the  natural 
had  not  forgotten  his  denouncer,  and  one  morning, 
when  poor  Tom  was  helping  the  shepherd  to  wash 
the  sheep,  the  idiot  sprang  upon  him  from  the  bank 
of  the  river,  and  holding  the  boy's  head  under  the 
water,  kept  singing  out,  "  Sucking  eggs  makes 
sweet  voices — ah  !  ah  !  " 

It  is  certain  Tommy's  singing  days  would  have 
been  soon  ended  had  not  the  shepherd  perceived 
his  danger,  and  extricated  the  unfortunate  boy  from 
the  grasp  of  the  revengeful  idiot. 

In  the  retired  village  of  Ballymulty  there  lived  a 
poor  widow,  whose  name  was  Jacob.  She  was 
decent,  sober,  and  industrious,  much  loved  by 
her  neighbours,  and  universally  respected  by  the 
higher  orders  of  society.  This  woman  had  three 
sons,  all  "born  naturals."  Handsome  fellows 
they  were — singularly  well  made  and  finely  propor- 
tioned, good-tempered,  gentle,  and,  what  was 
very  distressing,  painfully  alive  to  their  infirmity. 


Il8  IRISH   LIFE   AND   CHARACTER 

They  had  been  sent  to  school,  but  had  not  the 
power  of  either  reading  or  writing.  One  of  them 
had  a  taste,  or  rather  a  love,  for  drawing,  and 
would  sit  for  hours  on  his  mother's  neatly  sanded 
floor,  sketching,  with  a  piece  of  stick,  trees  and 
rivers,  but  above  all,  angels.  Whenever  his 
mother  was  sick,  he  would  draw  her  with  a  pair 
of  monstrous  wings,  that  she  might,  he  said,  "  the 
easier  fly  to  God."  Indeed,  all  his  ideas  and  feelings 
were  directed  heavenward :  he  would  sit  for  hours 
outside  the  door  on  a  moonlight  night  gazing  up 
at  the  heavens,  and  calling  the  moon  "  God's  big 
candle,"  and  the  stars  "God's  little  candles." 
Another,  the  youngest,  I  believe,  was  celebrated 
all  over  the  country  as  a  stone-mason :  he  had 
picked  up  the  business  without  receiving  instruc- 
tion, and  whenever  he  could  be  got  to  work,  would 
do  wonders  ;  but  no  earthly  power  could  induce  him 
to  be  industrious  for  more  than  a  fortnight  at  a 
time.  "  Larry,  I  want  you  to  build  me  a  wall." 
"  How  big,  yer  honour  ?  "  "I  will  tell  you  when 
you  come."  "  Can't  build  the  wall  unless  it's  done 
in  a  fortnight,  yer  honour.  Can't  work  for  more ; 
all  the  brains  do  go  out  of  my  poor  head  every 
fortnight,  yer  honour."  "Very  well,  Larry;  for 
the  fortnight  be  it."  "  And  ye'll  give  me  a  new 
blanket  for  my  mother,  yer  honour  ?  "  "  Yes,  Larry, 
and  a  new  gown."  "  Ah !  ah !  God  bless  yer 
honour!  a  new  green  gown  without  a  taste  of 
orange  in  it.  Thank  yer  honour,  God  bless  your 
honour !  may  ye  never  want  a  blanket  or  a  new 


NATURALS  119 

gown."  Then  he  would  rush  into  his  mother's 
cabin,  dance  over  all  the  pictures  his  brother  had 
been  sketching  on  the  sanded  floor,  hurrah,  jump, 
give  loose  to  all  noisy  demonstrations  of  joy,  kiss 
his  poor  parent,  tell  her  of  the  treasures  he  had 
secured,  go  off  the  next  morning  to  his  work, 
remain  at  it  for  the  exact  fortnight,  receive  the 
stipulated  clothes  for  his  mother  as  payment, 
only  accepting  twopence  in  money  to  buy  ginger- 
bread. He  set  off  to  the  country  town  to  purchase 
his  cakes  the  next  morning,  and  then  rambled, 
almost  without  covering,  through  the  woods  and 
the  mountains  for  about  a  week.  He  would  then 
return  home  and  be  quite  ready  for  another  fort- 
night's employment.  These  young  men  were 
singularly  attached  to  their  mother ;  she  would 
often  say,  "  My  poor  foolish  boys  are  better  to 
me  than  many  wise  children.  They  never  cross 
nor  contradict  me  in  anything.  They  bring  me  all 
they  get,  and  have  will  to  do  the  good  and  keep 
from  the  bad."  This  was  true;  but  sorrow  came 
upon  them.  The  widow  died,  and  was  buried. 
Some  time  after,  there  was  great  consternation 
in  the  neighbourhood  ;  for  the  sanctity  of  the  grave 
had  been  violated — the  widow's  dead  body  stolen. 
No  trace  of  it  could  be  discovered,  and  the  occur- 
rence was  nearly  forgotten,  when  poor  Larry,  who 
never  sung  or  worked  after  his  mother's  death, 
refused  food,  and  took  to  his  bed.  And  the  artist 
brother  was  often  occupied  sketching  his  head,  with 
huge  wings  at  the  back.  A  sort  of  presentiment 


I2O  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

of  his  death  seemed  to  occupy  the  mind  of  this 
young  man  ;  for  when  not  drawing  he  would  sit 
opposite  to  Larry,  now  worn  to  a  skeleton,  and 
hum  some  of  the  wild  ballads  they  used  to  sing 
together.  Many  of  the  poor  neighbours,  with  the 
characteristic  humanity  of  their  country,  used  to 
visit  and  attend  to  the  comfort  of  the  poor  stone- 
mason, who  was  everywhere  a  favourite.  At  last  he 
was  given  over,  and  the  parish  priest  paid  him  a 
visit.  "You're  not  going  to  take  me  from  my 
mother  ?  "  said  Larry  feebly.  "  Take  ye  from  your 
mother!  Oh  no,  my  poor  fellow.  No,  you  are  going 
to  her,  I  hope."  "  I  know  I  am,"  replied  the  natural, 
"  if  you  let  me  alone.  But  you  put  her  in  holy 
ground,  where  you  would  not  put  the  fool !  And 
the  fool  knew  that,  and  stole  her  away,  and  put 
her  under  the  old  beech  tree  in  the  hollow,  where 
she  is  now,  and  where  Jemmy  '11  put  his  poor 
brother  Larry."  It  was  all  true ;  the  remains  of 
the  widow  Jacob  had  been  stolen  away  by  her  affec- 
tionate son,  who  laboured  under  the  impression  that, 
as  he  was  a  fool,  they  would  not  bury  him  in  con- 
secrated ground. 

Poll  Pos  was  another  idiot,  of  whom,  as  a  child, 
I  was  dreadfully  afraid.  Poll  was  a  dirty,  imbecile, 
good-tempered  creature,  ever  begging  for  tea  and 
sugar — tea  and  sugar — and  resisting  most  strenu- 
ously every  effort  that  could  be  made  to  disen- 
cumber her  of  those  dirty  rags  wherewith  she 
was  clothed.  Whenever  I  was  naughty  (which 
was  some  ten  times  a  day)  I  was  threatened  with 


MOLLY  CAREW 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,  R.S.A. 


"  Ochone,  and  what  will  I  do? 
Since  my  Love  is  all  crost 
Like  a  bud  in  the  frost, 

And  there's  no  use  at  all  in  my  going  to  bed, 
For  it's  drhames  and  not  sleep  that  comes  into  my  head. 
And  it's  all  about  you, 
My  sweet  Molly  Carew, 
Indeed,  it's  a  sin  and  a  shame  !  '' 

Sam  Lover, 


NATURALS  121 

Poll  Pos.  Poll,  I  devoutly  believed,  had  a  great 
bag  to  carry  away  bad  children ;  and  this  bag  I 
knew  was  crammed  full  of  dirty  bones  and  scraps 
of  bread.  Consequently  Poll  and  her  bag  were 
my  aversion  ;  no  wonder  she  never  possessed  any 
interest  for  me,  and  only  inspired  me  with  terror 
and  disgust.  Nevertheless,  she  was  a  quiet,  harm- 
less being.  Poor  Poll.  Like  the  fair  Ophelia,  she 
was  found  drowned  in  a  river  where  she  had  gone, 
not  for  the  sake  of  an  ablution,  but  to  gather  wild 
flowers,  of  which  she  was  really  fond.  The  dirty 
creature  would  cherish  a  rose  for  an  hour  together, 
and  weep  if  it  was  taken  from  her. 

Mary  Carey,  poor  thing!  was  ever  to  me  a 
creature  of  singular  interest  and  beauty.  She  was 
delicately  neat  in  her  person  :  her  skin  was  clean,  her 
complexion  fair,  her  long  glossy  hair  hung  in  natural 
curls  over  her  brow,  and  her  tight  dress  of  coarse 
black  stuff  (she  never  would  wear  any  colour  but 
black)  free  from  spot  or  blemish.  She  was  always 
scrubbing  and  cleaning — rub,  rub, rub — and  her  blue 
but  usually  lustreless  eyes  would  light  up  with  an 
expression,  or  rather  a  glare,  of  pleasure.  Whenever 
she  saw  anything  that  was  particularly  clean,  she 
would  express  her  delight  by  rubbing  against  it 
and  stroking  it  with  her  hands.  I  have  heard  that 
poor  Mary  was  frightened  at  the  crimes  that  were 
perpetrated  in  the  rebellion  of  ninety-eight,  when 
she  was  quite  a  child.  Her  father  was  piked  on  the 
bridge  of  Wexford,  and  her  mother  was  burnt  in  the 
barn  of  Scullabogue.  Mary  was  then  but  four  years 


122  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

old.  She  had  been  for  some  days  a  prisoner  with 
her  mother  in  that  horrid  barn,  and  was  released  only 
by  the  energy  of  her  unfortunate  parent,  who,  when 
the  burning  rafters  were  falling  around  her,  threw 
forth  poor  Mary,  who  was  taken  up  and  was  kindly 
treated  by  one  of  the  insurgents.  She  was,  how- 
ever, a  perfectly  witless,  though  a  quiet,  contented 
creature,  imploring  a  blessing  upon  all,  whether  they 
treated  her  ill  or  well.  At  one  time  she  was  absent 
from  our  neighbourhood  nearly  two  years,  and  when 
she  returned,  to  the  horror  of  all,  Mary  Carey  had 
a  baby  at  her  breast — a  smiling,  fair,  intelligent- 
looking  thing,  whom  she  took  infinite  delight  in 
washing.  The  small-pox  was  raging  in  the  village, 
and  the  poor  baby  took  it.  Mary  could  not  be 
brought  to  comprehend  the  nature  of  the  disease — 
she  persisted  in  fancying  the  eruption  dirt,  and, 
taking  the  infant  to  the  shore,  she  scoured  it  literally 
to  death  with  sea-sand.  Poor  Mary  !  she  was  never 
heard  to  speak  or  seen  to  smile  afterwards ;  but 
whenever  she  met  a  woman  with  a  child  in  her  arms, 
she  would  wring  her  hands  and  weep  bitterly. 

With  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  inoffensive 
of  the  class  I  made  acquaintance  among  the  beauti- 
ful ruins  of  Dunbrody  Abbey.  This  splendid  relic 
of  the  olden  time  is  situated  in  the  barony  of  Shel- 
bourne,  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Barrow,  and  well 
repays  the  traveller  for  the  trouble  of  visiting 
its  extensive  remains.  The  site  is  well  sheltered, 
and  possesses  the  advantages  of  inland  navigation. 
Those  jolly  monks  had  right  good  taste,  and  chose 


NATURALS  123 

the  situation  of  their  monasteries  with  both  wit  and 
wisdom.  The  interior  walls  of  the  church  are  in  a 
beautiful  state  of  preservation,  and  on  each  side  of 
the  chancel  are  three  vaulted  chapels.  The  great 
aisle  is  divided  into  three  parts  by  a  double  row  of 
arches,  supported  by  square  piers;  the  inside  of  those 
arches  is  ornamented  by  a  rich  moulding,  and  con- 
veys an  idea  of  the  enormous  care  and  expense  that 
must  have  been  bestowed  upon  the  building.  The 
tower  appears  to  be  rather  low  in  proportion  to  the 
extent  of  the  whole,  but  it  is  supported  by  a  mag- 
nificent arch.  There  is  a  sort  of  narrow  walk  on 
the  summit  of  the  walls,  which  commands  a  superb 
and  extensive  view  of  the  adjacent  country.  The 
cloisters  appear  to  have  been  spacious,  but  their 
foundations  alone  remain,  and  it  was  curious  to  trace 
them  out  amid  the  weeds  and  long  grass,  which 
waved  and  triumphed  in  all  the  pride  of  summer 
existence  over  the  relics  of  antiquity.  Nearer  to  the 
centre  of  the  abbey  are  a  number  of  ruined  walls, 
which  indicate  where  the  hall,  the  refectory,  and  the 
dormitory  stood.  I  can  fancy  nothingappealingmore 
powerfully  to  the  imagination  than  these  noble  ruins. 

"  Two  or  three  columns,  and  many  a  stone, 
Marble  and  granite,  with  grass  o'ergrown  ! 
Out  upon  Time  !  it  will  leave  no  more 
Of  the  things  to  come,  than  the  things  before. 
Out  upon  Time  !   who  for  ever  will  leave 
But  enough  of  the  past  for  the  future  to  grieve 
O'er  that  which  has  been,  and  o'er  that  which  must  be. 
What  we  have  seen  our  sons  shall  see  : 
Remnants  of  things  that  have  passed  away, 
Fragments  of  stone  raised  by  creatures  of  clay  ! " 


124  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

We  all  value,  while  we  mourn  over,  the  ruins  of 
the  past — and  the  greater  the  desolation  the  greater 
our  regret.  The  western  window  of  this  noble  pile 
is  of  an  uncommon  form,  and  though  nearly  entire, 
gives  symptoms  of  a  decay  which  a  little  care  and 
attention  on  the  part  of  the  proprietor  might  easily 
prevent.  The  door  immediately  beneath  it  is  very 
magnificent,  being  adorned  with  filagree  open-work, 
cut  out  of  the  solid  stone,  and  so  raised  as  to  allow 
a  finger  easily  to  pass  under  its  carvings.  It  was 
a  fine  day  in  August  when  we  walked  up  the 
avenue  leading  to  this  time-honoured  ruin  ;  the 
dimness  of  the  morning  had  brightened  into  sun- 
shine, and  the  dark  masses  of  ivy  contrasted 
brightly  with  the  grey  stone  and  light  green  of 
the  fresh  grass,  while  the  many-tinted  mosses  ap- 
peared like  an  exquisite  mosaic  of  rich  and  curious 
tracery. 

As  we  entered  one  of  the  outward  courts,  a  troop 
of  innocent  calves,  frightened  at  our  appearance, 
crowded  beneath  a  gateway,  where,  perhaps,  Richard 
Earl  of  Pembroke  had  often  stood  in  his  shining 
armour,  and  looked  upon  the  increasing  walls  that 
now  crumbled  beneath  our  feet.  The  silvery  Barrow 
murmured  on  its  way,  and  could  have  told  us  much 
of  what  its  waters  witnessed  in  the  olden  time  of 
fray  and  foray,  of  banquet,  fast,  and  stately  pageant. 
While  we  paused  and  looked  upon  Dunbrody  with 
that  species  of  awe  which  enforces  silence,  the  puny 
sound  of  a  tin  trumpet  quivered  upon  the  air,  and 
would  have  made  little  impression  upon  us  had  it 


NATURALS  125 

not  been  followed  by  a  shout  of  loud  yet  heartless 
laughter. 

The  church  is  protected  by  a  gate ;  and  as  we 
wound  round  one  of  the  towers  to  gain  the  entrance, 
we  encountered  the  idiot,  who  had  been  making 
merry  within  the  sanctuary.  He  was  a  tall,  slight 
youth,  with  large,  lustreless  eyes,  not  unlike  "  poor 
Johnny,  poor  Jack',"  of  Wexford  memory,  save  that 
in  his  person  he  was  delicately  clean ;  and  his  dress 
was  so  fantastic  that  I  cannot  resist  the  temptation 
of  describing  it.  He  wore  what  are  called  Hessian 
boots,  with  white  pantaloons.  His  jacket  was  tight, 
but,  with  the  exception  of  the  sleeves,  it  was  im- 
possible to  tell  what  materials  it  was  composed  of; 
for  behind  hung  a  sort  of  rude,  short  cloak,  made 
of  the  fur  of  hare,  rabbit,  fox,  and,  I  really  believe, 
every  animal "  that  ever  wore  a  hairy  skin."  Around 
his  neck  were  suspended  a  tin  trumpet  and  various 
baubles ;  amongst  them  shone  conspicuously  a  huge 
leaden  watch,  upon  which,  poor  fellow !  his  eye  often 
rested.  His  flat  fur  cap  was  adorned  with  a  number 
of  long  scarlet  tassels,  that  floated  over  his  shoulders 
as  he  moved  restlessly  from  place  to  place.  There 
was  an  air  of  gentility  in  his  manner,  a  gentle  courtli- 
ness in  his  salutation,  and  a  tastefulness  in  his  piebald 
costume,  which  conquered  both  the  dread  and  dislike 
I  feel  towards  Irish  naturals.  We  speedily  became 
acquainted.  He  told  me  his  name  was  Johnny 
Welch;  answered  every  question  I  chose  to  ask. 
"  Where  did  he  live  ? "  He  lived  here.  He  loved 
the  ould  abbey ;  he  knew  every  stone,  every  turn 


126  IRISH    LIFE   AND   CHARACTER 

of  it.  It  was  a  fine  ould  place — a  pleasant  place  to 
live  in. 

"Where  did  he  sleep?" 

"  In  there"  (pointing  to  a  low  vaulted  room),  "in 
there  he  slept  with  tJie  dead  men\  there  was  a 
heap  of  their  bones." 

"  Was  he  not  afraid  ?  " 

He  laughed  wildly.  "  No ;  what  had  he  to  be 
afraid  of?  Would  he  root  up  some  of  the  dead 
men's  bones  for  my  honour  to  look  at  ?  "  and  before 
I  had  time  to  reply,  he  threw  himself  upon  a  heap 
of  clay,  and  insinuated  his  long  muscular  fingers  into 
the  earth  so  effectually  as  to  bring  up  bone  after 
bone  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning.  These  relics 
of  mortality  he  briefly  descanted  upon  as  he  tossed 
them  from  him  to  "root"  for  others.  "There's  a 
skull — a  fine  skull — a  big  skull — hould  a  dale  o' 
brain :  the  people  long  ago  had  a  power  o'  wit ! 
There's  a  bone — a  thigh  bone — a  great  soldier,  may- 
be— a  strong  bone  !  I  sleeps  upon  dead  men's  bones. 
The  abbey's  a  pleasant  place !  There's  a  weechy 
bone — a  lady's  arm — a  pretty  bone  !  Shall  I  root 
more  for  ye  ?  Another  skull !  There's  a  hole  in  it ; 
a  murdered  skull.  Hurrah  for  the  fight ! — hurrah 
for  the  fun  !  Shall  I  root  more  for  ye  ?  " 

I  felt  my  heart  sicken :  it  was  such  a  painful  lesson 
to  see  that  poor  idiot  boy  sporting  so  fearlessly  with 
the  relics  of  mortality ;  to  note  the  eagerness  with 
which  he  disinterred  those  memorials  of  decay ;  to 
see  folly  and  rags  fluttering  like  a  butterfly  over  what 
once  contained  the  essence  of  God's  own  spirit. 


NATURALS  127 

I  was  really  sick,  and  leaned  for  some  moments 
against  a  pillar  before  I  could  leave  the  painful  spot. 
At  last  he  turned  his  head,  and  looking  up  kindly 
in  my  face,  he  exclaimed,  "  Lady  grow  pale  ! — bury 
the  bones  ! "  which  he  did  so  quickly  and  so  effect- 
ually that  in  three  minutes  the  sun's  rays  rested  only 
on  a  mound  of  fresh-turned  earth. 

Amongst  other  things  that  were  slung  round  his 
neck  was  a  fox's  head.  We  wanted  him  to  sell  it. 
"  No,  he  would  not — Colonel  Piggott  and  the  gentle- 
men of  the  hunt  would  go  mad  with  him  if  he  parted 
with  it — he  loved  hunting — he  often  went  hunting 
with  the  gentlemen — they  were  very  good  to  him — 
why  then  should  he  give  away  their  fox's  head  ?  " 
Not  even  a  bright  shilling  should  tempt  him  to  part 
with  it.  Poor  fellow !  I  shall  long  remember  Johnny 
Welch  as  the  most  pleasing  fool  (notwithstanding 
his  taste  for  bones)  I  ever  encountered.  The  gener- 
ality of  Irish  naturals  are  the  most  disgusting 
specimens  of  humanity  produced  in  any  country ; 
but  Johnny  was  clean,  and  (but  for  the  vacancy  of 
look,  and  the  universal  habit  that  idiots  possess  of 
turning  in  their  toes)  exceedingly  handsome,  and 
even  graceful  in  his  appearance ;  he  solicited  no 
charity — pleaded  neither  hunger  nor  poverty — and 
though  he  followed  us  over  the  abbey,  he  did  not 
speak  except  when  spoken  to,  and  evinced  a  mild 
and  gentle  temper. 

I  learnt  from  two  shepherd  boys  that  Johnny's 
mother  was  a  respectable  widow ;  that  she  would 
give  "  the  world  and  all  if  her  son  would  stop  at  home 


128  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

with  her,  which  he  was  too  fond  of  the  ruins  of 
Dunbrody  to  do ;  that  he  was  born  innocent ;  and 
that  everybody  liked  him." 

This  I  could  readily  believe,  for  as  we  were  about 
to  enter  our  carriage  I  felt  sorry  to  think  I  should 
never  see  poor  Johnny  again.  I  turned  to  bid  him 
adieu  as  he  was  seated  on  the  wall  which  separates 
the  lands  of  Dunbrody  from  the  road,  looking  a 
fantastic  figure  to  so  magnificent  a  background. 
There  he  sat,  his  broad  flat  watch  resting  on  his 
open  palm,  while  his  gaze  was  earnestly  fixed  on  its 
motionless  hands. 

I  now  proceed  to  relate  a  story  in  which  a  poor 
boy  of  the  class  "  natural "  occupies  a  prominent 
part.  I  call  it  THE  LAST  IN  THE  LEASE. 

There  are  persons  now  living  who  remember  well 
the  excitement  produced  in  the  county  in  which 
it  occurred  by  the  appalling  event  that  forms  its 
groundwork.  It  was  related  to  me  by  a  clergyman 
who,  under  the  name  of  "Martin  Doyle,"  has 
published  a  variety  of  little  works  upon  rural 
and  domestic  economy,  the  value  of  which,  to 
the  Irish  farmer  and  cottager,  is  greater  than  pure 
gold. 

It  is  singular  that  while  the  tale  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  printer,  a  murder  was  committed  at  Windgap, 
near  Kilkenny,  under  circumstances  very  similar 
and  with  the  same  object — a  resolve  to  gid  rid  of  the 
last  life  in  a  lease.  Unhappily,  in  this  case,  the  at- 
tempt was  successful. 


NATURALS  129 

"  Why,  then,  Grace,  where  was  the  good  of  all 
the  laming  I  gave  you,  girl  darlint,  if  you  won't 
read  us  what's  on  the  paper  ?  Sure  it's  pleasant,  at 
times,  to  hear  the  news." 

"  Uncle  dear,  sure  it's  all  the  pleasure  in  life  I'd 
have  in  accommodating  you,"  replied  Grace,  still 
continuing  to  twirl  her  wheel,  "  only  that,  you  see, 
I  can't  read  and  spin  at  the  same  time." 

"  What  news  you  tell  us,"  persisted  Corney 
Burnett,  or,  as  he  was  commonly  called,  "Black 
Burnett."  "  What  news  you  tell  us.  Who  ever 
expected  you  to  read  and  spin  at  the  same  time  ? 
And  indeed,  dear  Grace,  it's  glad  of  an  excuse  I'd 
be,  set  aside  the  reading,  to  get  you  from  your 
wheel.  The  bur  and  the  twirl  of  it's  never  out  of  my 
eyes  nor  ears." 

"  It's  eager  to  make  the  linen  I  am,  to  keep  us 
clean  and  comfortable — and  you  above  all,  uncle. 
To  see  you  comfortable,  sure,  is  the  pride  of  my  life, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  blessing." 

"  Thank  you,  Grace :  I  believe  it  from  my  heart. 
And  why  shouldn't  I  ?  Since  the  day  I  promised 
my  poor  brother  (God  be  good  to  him !)  to  be  a 
father  to  the  both  of  you,  I  never  had  an  aching 
heart  on  your  account,  anyhow." 

"  Nor  on  account  of  poor  Michael  either,  uncle. 
Poor  Michael,  for  the  sense  God  has  left  in  him,  is 
as  good  a  boy  as  is  to  be  found  in  a  month  of 
Sundays." 

"  Ay,"  replied  Burnett  sorrowfully ;  "  but  it's  very 
mournful  to  see  him  sitting  there,  staring  into  the 
9 


130  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

turf  fire,  and  seeming  to  care  for  nothing  on  the 
living  earth  but  that  cur  of  a  dog." 

"  Snap  loves  him  dearly :  it's  wonderful,  so  it  is, 
to  see  how  he  watches  every  turn  Michael  takes ; 
the  poor  haste's  eye  is  never  tired  looking  at  him, 
nor  his  ear  never  shut  to  his  voice,"  said  Grace, 
putting  aside  her  wheel,  and  unfolding  the  remnants 
of  a  tattered  newspaper. 

"  Read  the  news,  read  the  news,"  reiterated  the 
half-idiot  boy,  who  had  been,  as  his  uncle  truly 
said,  staring  into  the  turf  fire,  his  dog  curled  round 
his  feet,  and  his  long  bony  fingers  clasped  over  his 
knees.  "Read  the  news,  Grace.  What  you  see 
wrong  in  others,  mend  in  yourself.  What  you 
see  wrong  in  others,  mend  in  yourself.  Is  that 
the  news,  Grace  ?  " 

Grace  could  hardly  forbear  smiling  at  the  rapidity 
with  which  he  pronounced  and  repeated  a  sen- 
tence that  had  obtained  for  him  the  sobriquet 
of  "  Preaching  Michael,"  and  she  replied,  "  I  think, 
Mick,  honey,  it  would  be  news  if  people  did  so." 

"  Ay,"  repeated  the  idiot,  "  what  you  see  wrong 
in  others,  mend  in  yourself." 

"  Hold  your  whisht,  will  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Black 
Burnett.  "  What  name's  to  the  paper  you've  got, 
Grace  ?  " 

"  That's  more  than  I  can  tell  you,  uncle  dear," 
replied  the  gentle  girl ;  "  for  the  name's  clean  tore 
off.  But  sure  it's  no  matter  for  the  name;  one 
paper's  as  good  as  another." 

"  Oh,  be  quiet  now !     Don't  you  mind  that  some 


NATURALS  131 

papers  are  for  one  side,  and  some  for  t'other ;  and 
both  can't  be  right — that's  an  impossibility.  How 
ould  is  it?" 

"I  can't  tell  that  either,  uncle;  but  it  can't  be 
very  ould,  for  just  down  here  it  says  that  small 
bonnets  are  all  the  thing,  and  the  last  time  Mrs. 
Hays,  of  the  Grate  House,  was  past  here,  she 
had  a  hat  like  a  griddle ;  so,  as  she's  tiptop,  she'd 
have  tiptop  fashions.  Why  not  ?  So  I'm  sure  the 
paper's  not  over  a  fortnight  printed,  any  way." 

"  Well,  read  what  they're  after  saying  in  the  big 
House  o'  Parliament,  and  all  about  Counsillor  Dan. 
Read  every  word,  not  as  you  did  the  last  loan  of  a 
paper  I  had.  Barney  Doolan  told  me  twice  as  much 
out  of  it  as  you  read,  Grace." 

"  Barney  made  it,  then,"  exclaimed  Grace,  never- 
theless colouring  deeply,  for  she  knew  the  charge 
was  not  altogether  unfounded,  as  she  was  in  the 
habit  of  skipping  a  great  deal.  "  Barney  made  the 
news,  I  say,  uncle ;  for  I  read  it  from  top  to  bottom 
— and  then  again  and  again — and  most  of  it  back- 
wards, to  plase  you :  it  took  me  as  long  as  I'd  spin 
a  pound  of  flax,  so  it  did." 

"  I  wish  I  knew  if  that  paper  was  one  of  the  right 
sort,"  said  Burnett,  without  heeding  her  observation. 

"  I'm  sure  it  is,"  she  replied ;  "  for  at  the  very  top 
it  begins  with  '  Father  Mulvaney's  Sarmon.' " 

"  A  priest's  sarmon  put  on  the  paper,"  repeated 
the  good  man,  rubbing  his  hands  gleesomely,  and 
drawing  his  "  creepie "  closer  to  the  fire ;  "  let's 
have  it,  Grace.  Now  show  your  fine  laming,  my 


132  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

girl ; — but  asy,  there — first  let  me  light  my  doodeen. 
Augh  ! "  he  continued,  after  screwing  up  his  tobacco 
in  a  piece  of  dirty  brown  paper  and  thrusting  it  into 
a  hole  in  the  wall  "for  safety,"  "Augh!  Grady's 
tobacco  isn't  worth  a  farthing  a  pound — he  always 
keeps  it  in  paper." 

"  What  you  see  wrong  in  others,  mend  in  your- 
self," exclaimed  the  natural. 

"  He  has  you  there,"  laughed  pretty  Grace,  as  she 
glanced  at  the  paper  ends  sticking  out  of  the  wall. 

"  Read  the  sarmon — one  at  a  time,  if  you  plase, 
Miss  Grace,"  said  Burnett,  looking  serious ;  but 
Grace,  before  she  did  her  uncle's  bidding,  sprang 
up  and  kissed  his  wrinkled  cheek  affectionately, 
whispering,  "You  are  not  angry  with  your  own 
poor  Grace  ? "  The  seriousness  passed  from  the 
old  man's  brow,  and  Grace  commenced  showing 
her  laming.  She  had  not  finished  the  first  sentence, 
however,  when  she  stopped  and  said,  "  Uncle,  it's 
very  strange,  but  this  sarmon  is  spelt  quare — not  in 
good  English." 

"  A  mighty  fine  judge  you  are,  to  be  sure,"  replied 
Burnett,  again  roused  to  the  "  short  passing  anger." 
"  A  mighty  fine  scholar  you  must  be  to  faut  a 
priest's  sarmon  and  the  printing  of  a  newspaper ! 
I  suppose  you'll  be  for  preaching  and  printing 
yourself." 

Grace  recommenced — 

'"Boys  and  girls — but  most  particular  boys — 
we  must  all  die !  Ay,  indeed,  die — as  sure  as  grass 
grows  or  wather  runs.  Now  you  see  that  the  grate 


NATURALS  133 

min  of  ould  times  are  all  dead  !  Not  a  mortial  sowl 
of  thim  all  alive.'  Uncle,"  said  Grace,  pausing,  "  do 
you  think  that's  true  ?  " 

"  True ! "  repeated  Black  Burnett,  not  looking  in 
the  mildest  manner  from  under  the  deep  and 
shaggy  brows  which  had  gained  him  his  cognomen  ; 
"  to  be  sure ;  and  to  all  reason  it's  true.  Show  me 
one  of  the  people  of  ould  times  that's  alive." 

"  Molly  Myran,  of  Crag's-pass,  near  Carrickburn's 
above  a  hundred,"  replied  Grace,  who  feared,  she 
hardly  knew  why,  that  the  sermon  was  a  sort  of 
quiz  upon  the  priesthood,  though  she  dared  not 
say  so. 

"  Molly  Myran  ! "  again  repeated  her  uncle  con- 
temptuously. "God  help  the  child!  Sure  no 
one's  worth  talking  of  amongst  the  rale  ancients 
that's  less  than  a  thousand  or  two !  Go  on  with 
the  sarmon." 

Grace  continued — 

"'There  was  Julus  Casar,  and  twelve  of  them 
there  was.  Mortus  est ! — he's  dead  ! '  " 

"  Morty  who  ?  "  inquired  Burnett  sharply.' 

"Mortus  est! — M-O-R,"  continued  poor  Grace, 
reading  and  then  spelling  the  letters. 

"  I  hope  you're  reading  what's  on  the  paper,"  per- 
sisted her  uncle  doubtingly. 

"  As  true  as  gospel,"  she  replied,  "  that  is  what 
I'm  reading.  '  There  was  the  grate  Cleopathra,  an 
Egyptian,  and  a  grate  warrior ;  he  used  to  dhrink 
purls  for  wather.  Mortus  est !  —  he's  dead  too  ! 
There  was  Marc  Anthony,  a  grate  frind  and  co- 


134  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

ajuthor  of  Cleopathra's  ;  he  had  a  grate  turn  for 
boating  and  the  like.  Mortus  est  I — he's  dead  too  ! 
There  was  Charleymange,  a  grate  Frinch  man  of 
laming  and  tongues,  and  with  all  his  laming — 
mortus  est  I — he's  dead  too  !  There  was  the  grate 
Alexandre,  the  gineral  of  the  whole  wide  world ! ' " 

"  Lord  save  us  ! "  ejaculated  the  old  man,  as  he 
knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  against  a  stone 
which  projected  from  the  back  of  the  chimney. 

" '  The  whole  wide  world  ! '  "  repeated  Grace ; 
" '  he  used  to  roar  and  bawl  whenever  he  couldn't 
set  a  faction  fight  afoot ;  and  it  isn't  at  that  he'd 
stop,  if  he  had  his  own  way,  for  it  was  all  fun  to 
him.  Mortus  est  I — he's  dead  too  !  There  was  the 
great  Cicero,  a  mighty  fine  pracher,  like  myself. 
Mortus  est  I  —  he's  dead  too  !  There  was  the 
wonderful  Arkimedays.  He  was  a  great  magician, 
an  admiral,  and  a  navigator;  he  used  to  set  ships 
o'  fire  by  just  looking  at  them  through  a  spy- 
glass. He  had  an  eye,  boys,  like  a  process.  Mortus 
est  /—he's  dead  too ! '  " 

"  Grace,"  interrupted  the  old  man,  "  I  believe, 
after  all,  you're  right.  I  wish  I  had  the  name  of 
that  paper.  I  don't  think  it's  of  the  true  sort, 
so  I'll  roul  it  up,  put  it  into  my  pocket,  show  it  to 
his  reverence  at  the  '  station '  on  Friday,  and  ask 
him  if  the  sarmon's  a  right  one." 

"Just  let  me  go  over  it  a  bit  first,"  said  Grace, 
intending  doubtless  to  refer  to  the  paragraphs  on 
fashion,  as  all  girls  in  Ireland  and  out  of  Ireland 
invariably  do.  "  Sure,  I'm  not  so  fond  of  spending 


NATURALS  135 

my  time  at  anything  of  the  sort."  She  continued 
looking  over  column  after  column,  until  at  last 
she  came  to  a  name  she  thought  she  had  heard 
her  uncle  speak  of. 

"  Didn't  you  know  one  James  Kenneth,  uncle  ?  " 

"To  be  sure  I  did,  Grace.  What  has  honest 
Jemmy  been  after  to  be  put  on  the  paper  ?  " 

"  He's  dead,  uncle." 

"  The  Lord  be  good  to  us  ! "  ejaculated  the  old 
man.  "James  Kenneth  was  fifteen  years  to  the 
good  younger  than  me ! — My  poor  Grace ! " 

"  Why,  what  had  I  to  do  with  him  ?  "  inquired 
the  girl,  astonished  at  her  uncle's  earnestness. 

"  Not  much,  to  be  sure — and  yet  you  had,  Grace, 
as  a  body  may  say." 

"  But  what's  very  strange,  uncle,  is,  that  just 
under  his  death  is  the  death  of  his  son  Thomas — 
a  young  man  in  his  seventeenth  year ! " 

Grace  was  so  intent  on  the  paragraph — for  people 
are  always  touched  by  the  deaths  of  those  who 
are  nearly  their  own  age — that  she  kept  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  paper,  and  it  was  some  minutes  before 
'she  perceived  that  a  deadly  pallor  had  overspread 
her  uncle's  countenance.  She  sprang  from  her  seat, 
when  she  looked  up,  and  flinging  her  arms  round  his 
neck,  inquired  if  he  was  ill. 

I  have  observed  the  manifestations  of  joy  and 
grief  in  the  inhabitants  of  many  lands.  The 
Scotch  are  wisely  taught  from  infancy  to  subdue 
their  feelings ;  they  bring  them  at  an  early  period 
of  life  under  a  quaker-like  subjection,  which,  though 


136  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

decidedly  advantageous  to  themselves,  shadows  a 
coldness  upon  the  feelings  of  others.  The  expres- 
sions of  English  sympathy  or  anxiety,  though  the 
sincerest  in  the  world,  are  blunt  and  ungraceful. 
You  feel  that  those  of  French  tenderness  are 
tricked  and  garlanded  with  a  view  to  effect ;  their 
tears  are  shed  after  a  form — their  sorrow  is  made 
picturesque.  But  the  anxiety,  the  earnestness, 
the  truthfulness  of  Irish  sympathy,  sorrow,  ten- 
derness, burst  uncontrolled  from  the  heart — the 
young  heart  I  should  say,  for  old  hearts  learn  how 
to  regulate  their  feelings ;  and  it  is  well  they  do, 
for  otherwise  they  would  go  hackled  and  tortured 
to  their  graves.  To  one  accustomed  only  to  the 
well-bred  griefs  of  modern  society,  the  earnest  and 
gushing  sympathy  with  which  an  Irish  girl  enters 
into  the  joys,  griefs,  hopes,  and  fears  of  those  she 
loves,  presents  quite  a  new  and  delightful  reading 
of  human  nature — it  is  most  beautiful  and  eloquent 
in  its  character!  She  loses  all  consideration  of 
self:  she  weeps — she  laughs — because  those  she 
loves  weep  or  laugh.  She  forgets  that  she  is  a 
separate  creation,  and  feels  as  if  created  for  her 
friends — friends! — The  word  is  all  too  cold  to 
express  her  devotion ;  it  must  be  seen  to  be  under- 
stood ;  excited,  or  it  can  never  be  appreciated  as 
it  deserves.  Grace  Burnett  was  a  creature  of  smiles 
and  tears — a  sunbeam  or  a  shadow.  She  had 
never  been  seen  to  frown,  though  she  was  often 
sad,  because  her  uncle  was  at  times  moody,  even 
to  ill-temper.  The  neighbours  said  they  sometimes 


THE   LEASE  REFUSED 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,  R.S.A. 


NATURALS  137 

pitied  her ;  had  they  understood  the  happiness  she 
felt  in  soothing  his  irritations,  they  would  have 
envied  her  her  delight  when  saying,  "  No  one  can 
please  my  dear  uncle  half  as  well  as  I."  Grace 
was  proud  of  the  influence  her  affectionate  gentle- 
ness had  gained  over  Black  Burnett.  And  now, 
when  she  hung  round  him  and  inquired  so  earnestly 
if  he  was  ill,  and  what  troubled  him,  she  thought 
her  heart  would  break  at  his  continued  silence. 
Even  her  idiot  brother  seemed  to  sympathise  with 
her — he  fidgeted  on  his  seat,  looked  at  her,  shuffled 
his  fingers  through  his  hair,  and  at  last  came  and 
stood  by  her  side. 

"  Something's  come  entirely  over  him  that  I've 
no  skill  in,"  she  said  at  last  despairingly.  "  Mick, 
speak  to  him,  Mick — he'll  mind  you,  maybe." 

"  What  you  see  wrong  in  others,  mend  in  your- 
self," muttered  the  idiot. 

"  Ay,  Grace — my  poor  Grace — and  that's  it  sure 
enough,"  said  her  uncle,  recovering  from  his 
stupor — "  that's  it !  The  sarmon  that  poor  natural 
preaches  was  evermore  in  my  ear,  and  maybe  that 
was  the  reason  it  did  not  reach  my  heart '.  '  What 
you  see  wrong  in  others,  mend  in  yourself.' 
Wasn't  I  constant  at  Mr.  Hanway  of  Mount  Grove 
to  get  a  lease  of  years,  instead  of  lives,  for  his 
farm  ? — Didn't  I  worry  Mr.  Maguire  till  he  had  his 
lease  properly  drawn  ?  And  when  forty  acres  of  the 
best  arable  land  in  the  county  went  clean  out  of 
the  hands  of  Nicholas  Cruise,  who  passed  so  many 
censures  on  his  carelessness  as  Black  Burnett  ?  " 


138  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  What  you  see  wrong  in  others,  mend  in  your- 
self," again  said  Michael. 

"  By  the  blessed  saints ! "  exclaimed  Burnett,  his 
agitated  feelings  taking  another  turn,  and  glad  of 
escape  by  words  or  violence,  "  if  you  repeat  that  to 
me  again,  you  poor  tantalising,  ill-featured  fool ! 
I'll  find  if  there's  any  brains  in  your  skull !  It's  a 
purty  thing  for  you  to  be  reproaching  me,  that 
nursed  you  since  you  came  out  of  your  shell." 

Michael  and  Snap  paired  off  into  the  chimney- 
corner,  and  Grace  burst  into  tears. 

"  Ay,  cry — you  may  well  cry,  Grace ;  but  it's  no 
use.  I'm  ould,  and  almost  helpless, — and  God 
only  knows," — continued  the  farmer,  as  he  paced 
up  and  down  the  spacious  kitchen  which  his  father 
and  grandfather  had  trod  before  him, — "  God  only 
knows  how  long  I  may  be  in  the  land  of  the  living ; 
and  then,  Grace,  then  what  is  to  become  of  you  ?  " 

"  Me,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Ay,  you,  uncle ! — Why,  you're  growing  as  great 
an  omadaun  as  your  brother ! " 

Grace  feared  to  ask  a  question,  but  still  the  tears 
rained  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Haven't  you  heard  me  say  that  I  had  three 
lives  in  the  new  lease  of  this  place :  James  Ken- 
neth and  his  son  Thomas, — Thomas,  who  was 
born  the  same  year  as  you,  my  poor  Grace, — and 
— but  the  Lord  forgive  me,  what  an  ould  sinner  I 
am  ! — Tom  Kenneth  cut  off,  as  a  body  may  say, 
in  the  very  bud  of  his  youth — the  same  age  as  you, 
Gracy — within  a  week  the  same  age, — yet  he  is 


NATURALS  139 

taken, — a  fine,  strong,  healthy  boy — he  is  taken ; 
and  you,  a  delicate,  weakly  girl,  but  the  delight 
and  treasure  of  your  uncle's  heart — you  are  left 
upon  the  earth,  and  in  my  own  house,  to  bless  it, 
as  you  have  always  done.  God  forgive  me  my 
sins  ! — but  I  was  always  a  passionate  man — hot, 
and  hasty.  You'll  forgive  me,  my  child  ?  " 

The  old  man  kissed  the  daughter  of  his  heart 
and  his  adoption ;  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye 
the  sorrow  passed  from  her  lovely  face — quicker 
than  she  could  wipe  away  the  tears. 

"  Sure,  thanks  be  to  God,  I've  heard  you  say 
that  your  own  life's  in  the  lease,  and  sure  that's  to 
the  good  still,  and  will  be,  please  the  Almighty, 
for  many  a  long  day  to  come.  And,  uncle  dear, 
maybe  the  landlord  would  still  renew  it  upon 
years ;  and  even  if  he  didn't,  don't  fret  on  our 
account,  for " 

Before  she  could  finish  her  sentence  there  was  a 
loud  knock  at  the  cottage  door.  Snap,  in  his  eager- 
ness to  investigate  the  character  and  demands  of 
the  visitor  overturned  the  wheel,  and  without 
heeding  the  mischief  he  had  done,  poked  his  snub 
nose  through  an  aperture  in  the  post,  and  growled 
angrily.  The  doors  of  Irish  cottages  are  seldom 
fastened ;  indeed,  during  recent  years,  notwith- 
standing what  is  called  in  England  "  the  disturbed 
state  of  the  country,"  I  slept  more  than  a  week  in 
the  house  of  a  Conservative  gentleman,  residing  in 
the  midst  of  a  Catholic  community,  whose  doors 
and  windows  were  never  disfigured  by  bolt,  bar,  or 


140  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

lock,  though  the  house  was  known  to  contain  much 
plate  and  some  firearms.  I  question  if  this  could 
occur  in  any  part  of  undisturbed  England  ! 

The  visitor  opened  the  door  at  which  he  had 
knocked  before  Burnett  had  time  to  raise  the  latch  ; 
but  Grace,  as  her  uncle  turned  to  do  so,  made 
time  enough  to  whisper  Michael,  "  if  you'll  be  a 
good  boy,  and  not  repeat  what  vexed  uncle  just 
now,  for  three  days  I'll  give  you  a  rosy-cheeked 
apple,  and  butter  to  the  potatoes  for  a  week."  Mick 
laughed  with  delight,  and  Grace  finished  her  speech 
just  in  time  to  say,  "  Kindly  welcome,"  illustrated 
by  a  pretty  curtsey  to  the  muffled-up  stranger  who 
was  now  standing  in  the  midst  of  the  apartment. 
He  was  a  stout,  thick-set  man,  whose  blue  great- 
coat, strong  brogues,  and  well-fitting  beaver  told 
of  his  belonging  to  the  "  warmer "  portion  of  the 
commonalty ;  his  "  shillalah "  was  more  carved 
than  as  it  is  usually  seen  in  a  countryman's  hand, 
and  when  he  politely  removed  his  hat  his  brown 
clustering  hair  curled  around  a  handsome  yet  dis- 
agreeable countenance — at  least,  so  Grace  con- 
sidered it.  She  thought  of  the  simile  in  the  mock 
sermon  she  had  just  read  of  "  a  look  being  as  bad 
as  a  process " ;  and  after  dusting  a  chair  with  her 
apron,  and  pushing  it  towards  him,  she  waited, 
expecting  that  he  would  speak  in  reply  to  the 
friendly  greetings  he  had  already  received.  He 
stood,  however,  in  his  old  position,  looking  alter- 
nately at  Burnett,  at  Grace,  at  Michael,  and  then 
investigating,  with  curious  eye,  every  article  of 


NATURALS  141 

furniture  in  the  kitchen :  the  delf  neatly  arranged 
upon  the  dresser ;  the  three  deal  chairs ;  the  stools 
and  "  bosses  " ;  the  noggins ;  the  settle ;  the  clock, 
that  most  unusual  piece  of  furniture  in  an  Irish 
cottage ;  a  small  work-table ;  and  a  neat  bookshelf 
"  facing  the  dresser  " — all  were  carefully  scrutinised 
— until  at  last  Burnett  became  annoyed  at  his 
visitor's  rudeness,  and  in  a  rough  tone  said  "he 
hoped  he  liked  all  he  saw,  for  he  would  be  sure  to 
know  them  again." 

"  Ay,"  replied  the  man ;  "  like,  to  be  sure  I  do — 
everything  here  is  to  be  liked — and " — his  eye 
glanced  familiarly  at  Grace — "  loved,  for  the  matter 

of  that ;  but "  He  paused,  and  looked  round 

again — and  again. 

"  It's  a  wild  night,  and  I'm  thinking  you'd  better 
take  an  air  of  the  fire,"  said  Burnett. 

"  Thank  ye,  so  I  will ;  it  feels  very  comfortable," 
said  the  stranger,  walking  under  the  shadow  of  the 
wide  chimney,  and  spreading  out  his  hands  to  the 
heat,  which  Grace  had  increased  by  the  addition  of 
some  "  sods  "  of  turf.  "  The  boy — a  natural ;  the 
dog,"  he  continued,  talking  aloud,  and  yet  as  if 
to  himself;  "the  dog — the  pretty  girl.  Everything 
exactly  as  I  saw  it  It  is  very  strange ! " 

"  May  I  make  so  bould  as  to  ask  what  is  so 
strange  ? "  inquired  Burnett. 

"  Everything — everything  here,"  he  replied,  turn- 
ing his  back  to  the  fire,  and  again  surveying  the 
apartment. 

"  Nothing    out    of   the    common,    sir,    barring 


142  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

Grace's  little  work-table — a  compliment  from  the 
carpenter,"  observed  the  simple-minded  man,  while 
Grace  blushed  beautifully  at  the  allusion  to  her — 
(truth  will  out) — her  lover ! 

"  Stranger  and  stranger  still,"  resumed  the  tra- 
veller ;  "  and  that  that  young  lady's  name  should  be 
Grace ! " 

"Young  lady!"  repeated  Burnett.  "She's  an 
honest  man's  daughter,  and  a  good  little  girl,  but 
no  lady." 

"She's  your  niece,  and  that  poor  fellow's  your 
nephew,  and  that  dog's  name  is  Snap,  and  your 
name  is  Corney  Burnett,  commonly  called  Black 
Corney,  or  Black  Burnett." 

"  Holy  Mary  defend  us  ! "  ejaculated  Grace,  cross- 
ing herself;  even  Mick  opened  his  large  brown  eyes  ; 
while  their  uncle  said,  "  Why,  then,  it's  known  you 
must  be  amongthe  neighbours,  though  you're  strange 
to  me,  and  your  tongue's  not  of  this  country." 

"  I  have  walked  seventeen  miles  since  I  entered 
a  house.  I  was  never  in  this  part  of  the  world 
before — and  I  was  born  in  foreign  parts ;  and  yet 
I  am  as  much  at  home  here  as  if  I  had  lived  in 
the  parish  all  my  life !  Every  stick  of  your 
furniture  I  feel  as  used  to  as  if  it  had  been  my 
own  ! " 

Black  Burnett  crossed  himself  as  he  turned  to 
look  round  his  cottage,  and  Grace  slid  slily  out  of 
the  kitchen  into  her  little  chamber,  and,  dipping 
her  fingers  in  the  vase  of  holy  water  that  hung  at 
the  head  of  her  humble  bed,  sprinkled  herself  with 


NATURALS  143 

it;  wetting  her  fingers  again,  so  that,  on  her  return 
to  the  kitchen,  she  might  convey  a  few  drops  to 
her  brother's  person.  Her  uncle  wore  a  scapular,  so 
she  considered  him  safe. 

"  Why,  then,  may  I  ask  again  how  you  gained 
your  information  ? "  questioned  Burnett,  as  he 
seated  himself  opposite  his  mystifying  guest,  who 
on  Grace's  return  was  seated  also. 

"  Indeed  you  may,"  he  replied ;  "  and  what's  not 
always  the  case,  I'll  answer  you — /  dreamt  it  I" 
Upon  this  there  was  a  loud  exclamation,  and  a 
general  crossing  succeeded.  Their  visitor  looked 
round  and  smiled.  "  Do  not  be  ashamed  of  your 
religion,  my  good  friends ;  I  have  been  in  many 
countries,  and  one  religion's  as  good  as  another  if 
it's  acted  up  to — that's  my  belief.  Cross  yourself 
again,  my  pretty  maid,  and  you  too,  Master 
Burnett,  and  I  will  tell  you  how  it  was — but  first 
let  me  ask,  is  there  not  a  deep  line  of  sand-pits 
near  this,  a  little  way  off  the  road  leading  to  the 
left?" 

"  There  is ! "  replied  the  uncle  and  niece  together. 

"  And — now  mark  me ! — is  there  not  a  very  large 
elm  tree  a  few  perches  farther  on  ?  " 

"  There  is ! "  responded  the  same  voices. 

"  And  when  you  pass  that,  you  descend  a  steep 
green  valley  ?  " 

"You  do!" 

"  At  the  foot  of  the  valley  runs  a  bright  clear 
stream,  with  a  bridge  over  it  ?  " 

"  There  did  run  a  stream  there,"  said   Burnett ; 


144  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"but  Peter  Pike  turned  it  into  his  milldam,  as  I 
told  him,  contrary  to  nature  and  Act  of  Parliament ; 
so  that  now  there's  a  bridge  without  any  water 
under  it." 

The  traveller's  countenance  fell,  but  it  brightened 
immediately,  and  he  continued :  "  And  farther  down 
that  stream  are  the  ruins  of  an  old  abbey;  and 
under  the  south  window  of  that  abbey  stands  a 
broad,  flat  marble  stone?" 

"  Ay,  true  enough,"  said  Burnett ;  "  I've  pegged 
my  top  on  it  many  a  time  when  I  was  a  boy." 

"  Peter  Pike,  then,  has  not  turned  that  stone  into 
his  milldam/'  persisted  the  stranger,  smiling;  "and 
as  it  remains  there — why,  my  friend,  our  fortune's 
made— that's  all !  " 

"  I  don't  see — I  don't  understand.  You've  not 
insensed  me  into  it  yet,"  said  Burnett. 

"  The  time's  not  come  for  telling  all ;  I  have  said 
enough  to  prove  to  you  that,  without  ever  having 
been  here  before,  I  knew  exactly  what  I  have  told, 
and  more  too,  which,  when  I  have  had  some  refresh- 
ment, you  shall  know." 

What  the  Irish  peasant  has  to  give,  he  gives 
freely,  be  it  much  or  little.  Hospitality  has  been 
called  the  virtue  of  savage  life.  Be  it  so ;  its 
exercise  is  delightful  to  the  wayfarer.  As  the 
evening  advanced,  it  was  evident  that,  notwith- 
standing Grace's  desire  to  hear  all  the  stranger 
had  to  communicate,  he  was  not  disposed  to  gratify 
her  curiosity,  and  she  and  her  brother  were  soon 
dismissed  to  their  beds.  There  was  a  half-finished 


NATURALS  145 

closet  inside  Grace  Burnett's  little  room,  which 
served,  if  truth  must  be  told,  as  the  nursing 
chamber  of  a  pet  calf,  which  she  was  rearing  with 
more  than  ordinary  care ;  for  the  creature  was 
milk-white,  devoid  of  spot  or  blemish,  and  conse- 
quently regarded  with  superstitious  tenderness.  As 
the  stranger  was  to  occupy  Mick's  bed,  the  poor 
natural  was  content  to  share  the  calf's  straw ;  but 
when  his  sister  went  to  cover  him  with  a  super- 
numerary blanket,  she  found  him  sitting,  his  arms 
enfolding  the  neck  of  his  favourite  dog,  and  his 
eyes  staring  with  the  expression  of  one  who  listens 
attentively. 

"  Go  to  sleep,  Michael." 

"  Whisht ! "  exclaimed  the  boy,  holding  up  his 
finger. 

"  What  ails  you,  astore  ? " 

"  Whisht ! "  he  again  repeated, 

"  Lie  down,  Michael." 

"  No,  no ;  I  saw — whisht ! — I  saw  what  Lanty 
Pike  kills  the  birdeens  with  peepin',  peepin',  peepin' 
in  the  strange  man's  breast.  I  saw  the  muzzle  of  it 
— he !  he !  Uncle's  the  fool,  if  uncle  trusts  him. 
Whisht ! " 

The  astonishment  occasioned  by  the  stranger's 
story  at  once  faded  from  Grace's  mind ;  but  if 
it  did,  her  first  impression  revived  with  tenfold 
strength.  How  was  her  uncle  to  make  his  fortune  ? 
What  connection  could  he  have  with  the  traveller's 
dream,  or  the  broad  flat  stone  in  the  old  grey 
abbey?  Her  spirit  sank  within  her.  A  tithe- 


146  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

proctor  had  been  murdered  about  two  years  before, 
and  thrown  into  the  gravel-pit.  Her  heart  beat 
feebly  within  her  bosom,  and  half  creeping,  half 
staggering  to  the  door  of  her  chamber,  she  put  her 
eye  close  to  the  latch-hole,  and  saw,  to  her  astonish- 
ment, her  uncle  evidently  preparing  to  accompany 
the  stranger  out,  though  the  night  was  dark  and 
stormy.  The  traveller  was  already  equipped,  and 
Black  Burnett  was  putting  on  his  "  big  coat."  Nor 
did  it  escape  the  girl's  observation  that  the  whisky 
bottle  was  nearly  empty,  and  that,  though  the 
stranger  was  perfectly  sober,  her  uncle's  cheek  was 
flushed  and  his  step  unsteady.  She  was  about  to 
let  them  see  that  she  was  not  gone  to  bed,  and  to 
entreat  her  uncle  not  to  go  forth  that  night,  when 
she  remembered  that  their  cottage  was  "  a  good 
step"  from  any  other  dwelling,  and  that,  if  their 
mysterious  guest  intended  violence,  he  could  easily 
overpower  a  half-drunken  man  and  a  feeble  girl — 
poor  Michael  was  always  counted  as  nothing.  She 
saw  her  uncle  take  up  his  spade  from  out  of  the 
corner,  and,  notwithstanding  the  stranger's  en- 
treaties to  be  permitted  to  carry  it,  she  was  pleased 
to  observe  he  persisted  in  his  determinatian  to  bear 
it  himself.  A  tremor  she  could  not  account  for 
came  over  her,  and,  as  they  closed  the  outer  door, 
she  nearly  fainted. 

Black  Burnett  and  his  visitor  proceeded  on  their 
way  in  the  direction  of  the  gravel-pits. 

"  You're  sure  of  the  road  ?  "  inquired  the  stranger. 

"  Am  I  sure  that  this  is  my  own  hand  ? "  replied 


NATURALS  147 

Burnett :  "  first  the  gravel-pits,  then  the  bridge — 
no,  then  the  elm — then  the  bridge — then  the  ould 
abbey — then  the  flat  stone !  Ah  !  what  will  the 
neighbours  say  when  Grace  flourishes  off  to  mass 
on  a  side-saddle  ?  And  to  think  of  your  bringing 
me  such  news  just  as  I'd  got  into  the  doldrums 
about  the  lease !  Three  days — three  nights,  I  mean 
— since  you  dreamt  of  the  goold  ?  " 

"  Three,  exactly." 

"  Under  the  flat  stone  ? " 

"  Ay !  Do  let  me  carry  the  spade  ;  and  see,  as  we 
seem  to  be  on  the  edge  of  a  gravel-pit,  had  you  not 
better  walk  next  to  it  ?  You  know  it,  and  I  don't." 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  war  up  to  every  turn  of 
the  crag,  through  the  drame  ?  " 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure ;  but  give  me  the  spade." 

"  I  tell  you  I  won't.  Haven't  you  the  bag  that's 
to  carry  home  the  red  goold?  Lord,  how  they 
will  all  stare !  Grace  shan't  put  off  ould  uncle 
then  with  a  bottle  of  whisky — I'll  have  a  whole 
cask !  Whir,  man  alive !  can't  you  walk  straight, 
as  I  do  ?  You  almost  had  me  over  the  edge  of  the 
pit,  and  there's  good  six  feet  wather  in  the  bottom 
of  it.  There,  just  where  the  moon  shines,  is  the 
elm  tree,  and " 

In  all  human  probability  the  word  would  have 
been  his  last,  for  the  murderer's  grasp  was  on  the 
arm  of  his  intended  victim,  but  that  Michael — the 
half-idiot  Michael — with  a  whoop  and  a  halloo, 
bearing  a  lighted  stick  in  his  hand,  rushed  so  closely 
by  them  that  the  sparks  of  his  wild  brand  starred 


148  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

the  stranger's  coat ;  while  Snap,  hearing  his  master's 
voice,  barked  either  in  glee  or  anger. 

"  Hurroo  !  hurroo !  Uncle,  uncle,  here's  the  light 
for  your's  or  the  devil's  pipe !  Hurroo !  night- 
rovers — ill-gatherers  !  Hurroo !  hurroo ! "  And 
shouting  and  jumping,  Michael  kept  before  his 
uncle,  now  tossing  his  torch  into  the  air,  and  then 
whirling  it  round  his  head. 

"  Send  the  cub  to  his  den,"  said  the  stranger,  in 
so  fierce  a  tone  of  voice  that  the  inebriated  Burnett 
noted  the  change,  and  turned  a  look  on  his  com- 
panion. 

"  Send  the  idiot  home,"  he  continued,  "  or,  by  the 
Lord,  I'll  send  him  somewhere  else,"  and,  as  he 
spoke,  he  drew  a  pistol  from  his  vest. 

The  sight  of  the  weapon  sobered  the  old  man  in 
a  moment.  "  Stop,  stop  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  If  you 
hurt  a  hair  of  that  boy's  head,  you'll  pay  for  it — 
that's  all.  You're  no  true  man  to  draw  a  pistol  on 
such  a  natural  as  that ;  besides,  what  use  have  you 
for  the  firearms  ?  " 

"  Use,"  repeated  the  traveller.  "  Why,  you  know 
your  country  has  not  the  reputation  of  being  the 
quietest  in  the  world.  So  for  my  own  personal 
safety " 

"  Quietest ! "  repeated  Burnett.  "  I'll  trouble  you 
not  to  say  anything  against  the  counthry.  I'm 
thinking  you're  not  the  sort  I  took  you  for — to  offer 
to  fire  at  a  poor  natural,  whom  every  man  in  the 
parish  would  fight  to  purtect ;  and  then  to  abuse 
ould  Ireland ! " 


NATURALS  149 

"  My  good  friend,"  interrupted  the  stranger,  "  let 
me  beg  of  you  to  send  that  boy  home.  To  trust 
our  secret  with  an  idiot  would  be  absurd  in  the 
extreme." 

"  As  to  getting  Michael  in,  when  Michael  would 
rather  be  out,  I  might  as  well  tie  a  rat  with  a  sugan. 
There's  no  use  in  gainsaying  the  poor  natural.  So 
I'm  thinking  the  night  is  so  wild,  and  that  craythur 
so  bent  upon  watching  what  I'm  afther,  that  we'd 
better  go  back.  To-morrow  night  will  do  just  as 
well." 

"  If  you'd  just  let  me  frighten  him  with  a  flash 
in  the  pan,  it  would  send  him  to  bed  as  gentle  as  a 
fawn." 

"  Flash  in  the  pan  !  God  help  you,  man  alive ! 
the  whisper  of  a  pistol  even  would  send  Michael 
over  the  whole  town  land  before  you  could  say 
Bannacher ;  and  he'd  have  a  crowd  round  us  that 
would  beat  a  priest's  funeral  to  nothing.  No,  no ; 
all  we've  for  it  to-night  is  to  go  back  and  be  asy." 

Burnett  was  determined,  and  his  companion  was 
compelled  to  submit,  after  trying  in  vain  to  impress 
upon  the  farmer's  mind  that,  as  it  was  the  third 
night  after  the  dream,  it  was  particularly  favourable 
for  such  an  adventure. 

"  Sure  the  goold  is  there,  and  if  it  has  stayed 
there  for  maybe  a  hundred  or  two  years,  what's 
to  take  it  away  now,  or  before  to-morrow  night  ?  " 
argued  Black  Burnett ;  but  I  much  doubt  if  the  idea 
would  have  influenced  him  had  not  the  sight  of  the 
pistol  roused  his  suspicions,  or,  as  he  said  himself, 


ISO  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

if  something  had  not  "  come  over  him  "  that  turned 
him  homeward. 

The  next  morning  the  stranger  lingered  about  the 
cottage,  making  himself  familiar  with  every  winding 
and  path  in  the  vicinity,  and  trying,  as  it  is  called, 
to  "  make  friends  "  with  Michael.  Michael,  however, 
was  true  to  his  first  feelings,  and  eyed  the  visitor  as 
a  shy  dog  may  often  be  observed  to  regard  a  person 
who  has  treated  him  secretly  with  harshness,  and 
yet  would  wish  to  be  on  outward  terms  of  civility. 
He  offered  him  gingerbread — Michael  threw  it  in 
the  fire ;  nuts — he  flung  them  back  into  his  lap.  In 
the  favour  of  Grace  he  made  no  progress  either. 
His  compliments  were  unregarded  ;  and,  to  complete 
his  mortification,  the  favoured  carpenter  came  there 
for  a  day  or  two.  He  could  not  help  thinking  that 
the  carpenter  had  been  sent  for,  either  by  Grace  or 
Michael,  as  a  spy  upon  his  actions.  He  saw  that 
every  movement  he  made,  every  word  he  spoke  was 
watched,  and  whatever  plan  of  action  he  had  formed 
was  evidently  frustrated  for  the  present.  Black 
Burnett  talked  to  his  guest  eagerly  of  the  anticipated 
treasure;  whatever  suspicions  or  fears  had  been 
awakened  in  his  mind  had  passed  away  with  the 
darkness  of  night,  and  his  habitual  incaution  and 
natural  obstinacy  tended  to  make  him  as  easy  a 
prey  as  a  designing  person  could  desire.  The  next 
night  it  blew  a  perfect  hurricane — the  sort  of  storm 
which  a  strong  man  cannot  stand  in — and  the  thun- 
der and  lightning  sported  in  their  fierceness  with 
the  winds  and  rain.  The  door  of  the  cottage  was 


NATURALS  151 

forced  in  more  than  once ;  and  as  the  fire  gleamed 
upon  the  stranger's  face  (for  he  had  gathered  him- 
self up,  silent,  moody,  and  disappointed,  in  Burnett's 
chimney-corner),  Grace  could  hardly  forbear  think- 
ing him  the  incarnation  of  an  evil  spirit.  The  more 
terrific  the  storm  the  more  Michael  rejoiced.  He 
leaped — he  clapped  his  hands ;  he  seemed  to  his 
sister  as  if  under  the  impression  that  his  uncle  owed 
his  safety  to  the  war  of  elements,  which  shook  to 
the  foundation  their  humble  dwelling.  At  intervals 
the  visitor  and  his  host  would  look  out  upon  the 
night,  but  it  was  only  to  return  with  discomfited 
aspects  to  their  seats. 

"  Uncle,"  said  Grace,  drawing  him  gently  aside, 
"  uncle  darlint,  I  want  to  spake  a  word  to  ye.  It's 
about  the  lase,  uncle.  Matthew  "  (her  lover)  "  has 
tould  me  that  the  landlord  himself  will  be  passing 
through  Ross  to-morrow,  and  he  doesn't  want  any 
of  us  to  know  it,  because  he's  always  bothered  about 
lases  and  the  like ;  and  you  are  sensible  no  Irish 
gentleman  in  the  world  likes  to  be  tormented  about 
business  of  any  kind — he'd  rather  let  it  take  its  own 
course  without  toil ;  but  Matthew  says,  uncle,  that 
maybe  as  my  mother  nursed  him,  and  poor  Mike — 
weak  though  he  is — is  his  own  foster-brother — if  I 
watched  and  could  get  a  glimpse  of  him,  he'd  spake 
to  me  anyhow." 

"  I  wouldn't  be  under  a  compliment  to  him  for 
the  lase,"  replied  Burnett  proudly.  "  Maybe,  Grace, 
it's  more  than  himself  I'll  have  one  of  these  days." 

"  Sure  it's  no  compliment,  if  we  pay  the  same  as 


152  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

another ;  and  you  were  never  a  gale  behindhand  in 
your  life.  And,  uncle,  honey,  if  it's  trusting  to 
drames  you  are " 

"  You're  not  going  to  prache  to  me,  are  you  ?  " 
said  the  impatient  man,  interrupting  her. 

"  No,  not  prache — only  there's  a  look  betwixt  yon 
man's  two  eyes  that  has  no  marcy  in  it.  Uncle  a- 
cuishla — take  care  of  him  ! " 

"  You're  a  little  fool — a  worse  natural  than  Mike 
— that's  what  you  are." 

"  But  you'll  take  care — and  about  the  lase  ?  " 

"  Let  me  alone,  will  you  ?  Grace,  you're  a  spiled 
girl — that's  what  you  are — and  it's  myself  spiled 
you,"  replied  Burnett,  turning  again  to  look  out 
on  the  night,  which,  fortunately  for  him,  was  worse 
than  ever.  It  was  long  past  two  before  the  family 
retired  to  rest ;  but  Grace's  head  was  too  full 
to  sleep.  She  was  up  with  the  lark.  A  calm 
and  beautiful  morning  had  succeeded  the  storm. 
Matthew,  her  handsome  lover,  was  soon  roused 
from  his  light  slumbers  in  the  barn,  and  she  coun- 
selled with  him  long  and  earnestly  upon  her  plans. 

"  The  terror  of  that  strange  man  leaves  my  heart 
when  the  daylight  comes,"  said  the  innocent  girl, 
"  and  yet  I  don't  like  to  leave  him  alone  with  Mike 
and  uncle.  Mike  thinks  he'd  have  pitched  uncle 
into  the  gravel-pits,  Thursday  night,  but  for  him. 
To  be  sure,  there's  no  minding  what  Mike  says." 

Matthew  thought  differently;  he  said  he  had 
observed  that,  at  times,  her  brother  evinced  much 
intelligence. 


NATURALS  153 

"  The  landlord  will  be  in  Ross  about  eleven,  you 
say ;  and  it's  a  long  walk  from  this.  A  weary  on 
the  drames  !  But  for  the  dramer,  uncle  himself 
would  go,  I  know ; — and  yet  there's  thruth  in  them 
at  times — and  it  was  wonderful  how  he  knew  us 
all." 

Matthew  smiled. 

"  Can't  I  go  myself,  and  you  stay  here  ?  "  she  con- 
tinued. 

No;  Matthew  would  not  do  that.  What,  let 
her  go  alone,  as  if  no  one  cared  for  her,  to  meet 
her  young  and  handsome  landlord  ! — He  didn't  care 
about  the  lease — not  he;  but,  to  suffer  her  to  go 
alone  !  If  he  thought  it  would  make  her  mind  easy, 
his  brother  Brien,  the  stone-mason,  should  go  to 
work  at  the  New  Pier  "  forenent "  the  house,  and  he 
would  be  a  safeguard. 

That  was  a  pleasant  proposal ;  and  in  her  eager 
desire  to  obtain  a  promise  from  the  landlord  that 
he  would  grant  her  uncle  a  lease  of  years,  she  more 
that  half  persuaded  herself  that  her  fears  were 
imaginary.  "  At  all  events,"  she  argued,  "  no  harm 
can  happen  him  in  the  bames  of  the  blessed  sun. 
I'll  be  back  before  night :  and  if  I  do  but  bring  the 
promise — the  written  promise  from  the  landlord- 
uncle  will  be  in  a  good  humour ;  and  then,  maybe — 
maybe — I'd  coax  him  over  to  give  up  the  drame, 
and  take  a  fresh  oath  against  the  whisky  !  " 

Poor,  poor  Grace ! 

She  wakened  Michael,  and  telling  him  to  take 
care  of  his  uncle,  promised  him  some  fresh  ginger- 


154  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

bread  if  he  was  a  good  boy  and  kept  his  word ; 
and  having  first  left  the  breakfast  ready,  set  off  on 
her  adventure,  escorted  by  as  true  a  lover  and  as 
sensible  a  friend  as  ever  fell  to  the  lot  of  a  country- 
girl. 

Matthew  is  at  this  day  a  perfect  jewel  in  his  way 
— sober,  attentive,  and  industrious ;  fond  of  his 
home,  of  his  wife,  and  children ;  worthy  to  be 
held  up  as  a  pattern  to  all  the  married  men  in  his 
country,  whether  poor  or  rich.  I  honour  Matthew, 
and  think  him  (and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal)  as 
good  as  any  English  husband  of  my  acquaintance. 

When  Black  Burnett  got  up,  he  was  not  a  little 
annoyed  at  finding  that  pretty  Grace  had  dis- 
appeared, contrary  to  his  desire;  and  though  he 
well  knew  the  cause  of  her  absence,  for  once  he  had 
the  prudence  to  keep  his  own  counsel,  saying  only 
to  his  guest  that  she  had  gone  to  Ross.  During 
the  early  part  of  the  day,  the  visitor  walked  about 
as  he  had  done  before  ;  but  at  noon  the  mason  saw 
a  strange  boy  give  him  a  piece  of  paper — a  note 
or  parcel — he  could  not  tell  which,  it  was  so 
"  squeeged "  between  their  hands  ;  but  something 
of  that  sort  it  certainly  was. 

After  dinner,  the  stranger  proposed  that  he  should 
accompany  Black  Burnett  a  little  way  on  the  Ross 
road,  to  meet  Grace  on  her  return;  nor  did  he 
object  to  poor  Michael  bearing  them  company. 
The  stone-mason  (honest  Brien)  thought,  after  a 
little  time,  he  would  follow  in  the  distance ;  though, 
from  the  earliness  of  the  hour,  and  the  road  being 


NATURALS  155 

much  frequented,  he  had  no  apprehension  of  any- 
thing wrong ;  keeping,  however,  his  eye  on  the  man 
he  had  been  cautioned  by  his  brother,  and  his  in- 
tended sister,  to  watch  till  their  return.  The  two 
went,  to  all  appearance  cheerfully,  on  their  way. 
The  stranger  was  one  who  had  seen  many  countries; 
he  could  make  himself  very  entertaining,  and 
nobody  loved  a  jest  or  a  good  story  better  than 
poor  Burnett.  Michael  stopped  occasionally  to 
gather  blackberries,  to  speak  "  to  a  neighbour's 
child,"  to  "  hurrish  "  the  pigs,  or  to  throw  stones  at 
the  crows  which  congregated  in  the  fresh-ploughed 
fields.  The  brilliant  morning  had  sobered  down 
into  the  fine,  tranquil  autumn  day ;  the  broad- 
leaved  colt's-foot  (almost  as  destructive  to  the 
cultivator  of  Irish  ground  as  the  superabundant 
"rag-weed")  turned  the  silver  lining  of  its  light 
green  leaves  to  the  declining  sunbeams ;  and  the 
hedges  were  gaily  decked  with  rich  clusters  of  the 
red-ripe  hawthorn-berry. 

"  I  cannot  get  on  any  farther  without  something 
to  drink,"  said  the  stranger,  stopping  opposite  a 
wayside  public-house,  which  was  adorned  by  the 
O'Connell  arms  and  a  most  unlike  likeness  of  the 
"  Agitator."  "  You  have  treated  me ;  now  I  must 
treat  you." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  a  glass  of  '  rale  Cork/" 
replied  Burnett ;  "  but  I  must  not  taste  more  than 
one,  or  Grace,  the  slut,  will  haul  me  over  the 
griddle  for  it." 

"  I   tell   you   what :    have  some   of  Guinness's 


I  $6  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

excellent  porter  ;  and  if  that  doesn't  warm  you,  you 
can  have  something  short  afterwards." 

41  Something  what  ?  "  inquired  his  companion,  un- 
accustomed to  English  slang. 

"  Strong,  you  know.  Come,  my  pretty  mistress, 
a  quart  of  Guinness's  best." 

The  clear  and  healthful  beverage  frothed  as, 
after  he  received  it,  he  poured  a  portion  into  a 
measure,  and  turned  towards  the  fire  with  the 
remainder,  inquiring  of  his  companion,  "  Shall  I 
warm  it  for  you  ?  Would  you  like  it  warmed  with 
some  sugar  and  spice,  as  we  do  in  Wales." 

"  No,  no ;  do  not  put  it  on  the  fire.  I  would  rather 
have  it  as  it  is,"  replied  Burnett.  "  Guinness's  stout 
wants  nothing  but  the  drinking." 

"  You  see,"  said  the  stranger,  turning  to  the 
landlady,  "you  see  he  would  not  let  me  put  anything 
in  it" 

In  an  instant  the  draught  was  at  Burnett's  lips ; 
he  had  walked  far,  and  the  heat  and  exercise 
had  overpowered  him.  Another  moment,  and  his 
destiny  on  this  side  of  the  grave  would  have  been 
decided  ;  but  his  time  was  not  yet  come.  Michael 
rushed  into  the  room,  and  seizing  the  cup  from  his 
uncle's  uplifted  hand,  drank  it  nearly  to  the  dregs. 

"  Sorrow  catch  you  for  an  ill "  But  ere  Burnett 

could  finish  the  sentence,  his  eye  rested  upon  the 
changed  and  changing  countenance  of  the  stranger. 
Disappointment,  rage,  anger,  and  hatred  were 
painted  upon  his  distorted  features — painted  so 
vividly  that  both  the  landlady  and  the  intended 


NATURALS  I 57 

victim  exclaimed  at  the  same  moment,  "  It  is 
poisoned  I" 

What  has  taken  some  time  to  write  was  the 
transaction  of  less  than  a  minute.  The  villain  seized 
the  measure,  and  attempted  to  throw  what  re- 
mained of  the  contents  into  the  fire ;  but  the  arm 
of  a  strong  serving-maiden  prevented  his  purpose. 
He  then  rushed  to  the  door;  but  here  again  he 
was  interrupted  by  the  stone-mason,  who  had 
quickly  followed  their  steps,  and  poor  Mike,  who, 
with  the  strong  animal  instinct  of  hatred,  clung  to 
his  legs  to  impede  his  progress. 

"  Fool !  idiot !  cursed  fool !"  exclaimed  the  ruffian, 
endeavouring  to  draw  the  pistol  from  his  vest. 

This  recalled  Burnett  to  his  senses.  "  My  boy  ! 
my  poor  Michael ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Lay  not  a 
finger  near  him;  for  if  you  do,  this  hour — this 
moment — shall  be  your  last ! " 

"  Why  do  you  hold  me — what  have  I  done  ?  " 
inquired  the  stranger,  as  his  presence  of  mind  re- 
turned. "Who  talked  of  poison?  If  there  was 
poison  in  the  beer,  the  landlady  saw  that  he  would 
not  let  ME  put  anything  in  it." 

It  happened  to  be  fair-day  in  one  of  the  neigh- 
bouring villages,  and  a  crowd  soon  collected  round 
and  in  the  house.  Amongst  them — hurried  for- 
ward by  others,  without  knowing  the  cause  of 
the  excitement,  but  accompanied  by  her  lover — 
came  Grace  Burnett.  On  seeing  her  uncle,  she 
could  not  resist  throwing  herself  into  his  arms,  and 
whispering,  "  I've  seen  his  honour — I've  got  the 


158  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

promise,  and  his  honour's  own  selfs  coming  this 
way.  Run  out  an'  make  your  obedience  to  him." 

"He's  a  magistrate,  thank  God!"  exclaimed 
Burnett,  rushing  to  the  door.  "  Grace,  for  the  love 
o'  God,  look  to  Michael ! " 

"  Michael,  what  ails  you,  honey  ?  "  said  the  affec- 
tionate girl,  turning  to  her  brother. 

"  Nothing,  nothing ;  nothing  ails  me.  They're  all 
foolish — nothing  ails  Mick — nothing  ails  Mick,"  he 
replied,  jumping  and  tossing  his  arms. 

"Keep  asy — keep  asy,"  said  the  landlord. 
"  Sure  the  doctor's  sent  for,  and  will  tell  us  what  to 
do  presently." 

When  Burnett's  landlord  left  his  carriage,  and 
entered  the  public-house,  the  look  of  assurance 
which  the  stranger  had  assumed  changed  to  one  of 
fixed  despair — he  seemed  like  one  for  whom  there 
is  no  redemption.  "  What,  you,  Lawler — you  ac- 
cused of  such  a  crime  ?  Your  brother  told  me  you 
were  in  Dublin." 

"  My  brother  ought  to  have  done  his  own  business 
himself,"  growled  the  fellow ;  "  but  no  one  can  say 
I  meant  to  hurt  the  boy." 

The  rest  is  soon  told.  A  favourite  steward  had 
induced  Burnett's  landlord  to  promise  him  that, 
when  the  last  life  in  the  lease  dropped,  he  should 
have  the  farm  upon  which  his  heart  was  set.  By 
bribes  and  entreaties  he  prevailed  upon  his  brother 
— a  man  of  wild  and  reckless  habits — to  undertake 
the  getting  of  Burnett  out  of  the  way.  His  first 
plan  was  to  decoy  him  from  home,  and  precipitate 


NATURALS  159 

him  into  the  gravel-pits :  this  failed,  by  the 
providential  interposition  of  poor  Michael,  whose 
idiotcy  was  so  strongly  mingled  with  shrewdness. 
The  villain  waited  another  opportunity,  knowing 
he  had  a  firm  hold  upon  Burnett's  superstition  and 
his  love  of  wealth  ;  but  that  very  morning  he  re- 
ceived intimation  from  his  brother  that  it  must  be 
done  quickly,  as  the  landlord  himself  was  talking 
of  passing  through  and  about  his  farms,  and  if  once 
the  Burnetts  "  got  speech  of  him,"  it  would  be 
"all  up."  He  at  once  decided  on  using  poison, 
and  we  have  seen  how  it  was  prevented  from 
taking  effect  upon  his  intended  victim.  Had  any 
evidence  been  wanting,  the  remains  of  arsenic 
found  in  a  paper  on  his  person ;  his  brother's 
letter,  which  the  stone-mason  had  seen  him  receive  ; 
the  contents  of  the  beer  when  analysed  by  a 
neighbouring  doctor,  who  unhappily  did  not  arrive 
until  poor  Michael  had  felt  that  something  more 
than  usual  "ailed"  him — were  all  proofs  of  his 
guilt;  but  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  anything 
more  vehement,  more  terrible  than  the  excitement 
which  prevailed  amongst  the  country-people  while 
the  poor  idiot  was  suffering  the  agonies  of  death. 
It  was  difficult  to  prevent  their  tearing  the  culprit 
to  pieces.  The  fact  of  his  wanting  to  take  land 
over  another  man's  head  would  have  been  enough 
to  rouse  their  indignation ;  but  when  they  saw  the 
simple,  inoffensive  creature,  whose  gentle  words  and 
good-natured,  though  witless,  offices  had  endeared 
him  to  every  cottager,  their  wrath  knew  no  bounds. 


160  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  It's  a  lesson  to  the  landlord  to  see  after  his 
tenants  himself  that,  I  hope,  he'll  not  forget,"  said 
one.  "  Sure  the  God  of  heaven,  if  He  lifts  the  dews 
from  the  earth,  sends  it  back  again  in  rain ;  but 
everything  is  took  from  poor  Paddy,  and  nothing 
returned ! " 

"  Lift  me  to  the  air,  Gracy,"  whispered  the  dying 
boy  to  his  sister :  "  I  know  I'll  be  waked  soon ; 
but  let  poor  Snap  have  the  butter  and  gingerbread 
you  promised  me,  for  I  never  prached  my  sarmon 
since,  to  vex  you,  Gracy."  The  hardest  and  the 
sternest  wept  when  they  saw  the  poor  faithful  dog 
lick  his  master's  purple  lips,  and  saw  that  master's 
dying  efforts  to  push  from  him  the  thing  he  cer- 
tainly loved  best  in  the  world,  murmuring, "  Maybe 
'twould  hurt  him — maybe  'twould  hurt  him  ! " 

Dread  and  fearful  was  the  oath  of  exterminating 
vengeance  which  Black  Burnett  swore  against  the 
stranger  Lawler  and  his  brother  over  the  body  of 
the  dead  idiot:  but  it  was  not  needed — the  one 
paid  the  forfeit  of  his  crime,  and  was  executed 
within  a  month  after  its  committal ;  the  other  dis- 
appeared, and  was  never  again  seen  or  heard  of  in 
the  country.  Black  Burnett  abandoned  whisky,  and 
grew  rich ;  but  never  could  bear  to  hear  of  people 
rinding  money  under  flat  stones. 

Matthew  and  Grace  inhabit  the  dwelling  still, 
though  it  is  far  more  comfortable  than  it  was ;  and 
Snap's  descendant  cannot  find  a  hole  in  the  door- 
post to  poke  his  nose  through,  though  he  is  quite 
as  cross  and  curious  as  his  grandsire. 


KELLY  THE  PIPER 

"Judy — Judy  Kelly — Judy  ! — Will  ye  give  us  no 
breakfast  to-day — and  the  sun  splitting  the  trees 
these  two  hours? — and  the  pig  itself — the  cratur — 
skreetching  alive  wid  the  hunger  ?  " 

"  Och,  it's  true  for  ye,  Mick,  honey ! — true  for  ye 
— and  the  pratees  are  almost  done — and  yon's 
Ellen.  She  carries  the  pitcher  so  lightly  that  it's 
little  milk  she's  got  from  the  big  house  this  fine 
harvest  morning." 

And  Mistress  Kelly  "hurrisht"  the  pig  out  of 
the  cabin,  placed  three  noggins  on  an  old  table 
that  she  pulled  from  a  dark  corner  (there  was  but 
one  window  in  the  room,  and  that  was  stuffed  with 
the  piper's  coat,  in  lieu  of  glass),  wiped  the  aforesaid 
table  with  the  corner  of  her  "  praskeen,"  and,  from 
another  corner,  lifted  the  kish,  that  served  to  wash, 
strain;  and  "  dish  "  the  potatoes,  feed  the  pig,  or  rock 
the  child,  as  occasion  might  require. 

Judy  Kelly  was  certainly  one  of  the  worst  speci- 
mens of  an  Irishwoman  I  had  ever  the  duty  of 
inspecting.  She  never  washed  her  face  except  on 
Sundays ;  and  then  it  always  gave  her  so  bad  a 
cold  in  her  head — on  account  (to  use  her  own 
ii 


162  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

words)  "  of  the  tinderness  of  her  skin  " — that  she  was 
obliged  to  cure  it  with  liberal  draughts  of  whisky — 
the  effects  of  which  rendered  Judy  (at  other  times 
a  peaceable  woman)  the  veriest  scold  in  Bannow. 
Poor  Kelly  always  anticipated  this  storm,  and  on 
Sunday  evenings  mounted  his  miserable  donkey — 
miscalled  Dumpling  (a  name,  however,  which  might 
have  been  appropriate  before  he  took  service  with 
his  present  master),  and,  with  pipes  under  arm, 
posted  to  St.  Patrick — the  most  respectable  "  she- 
been shop  "  on  the  moor — and  finished  the  night 
sometimes  with  a  comfortable  nap  by  the  roadside 
or  on  a  sandbank.  The  most  delightful  sleep  he 
ever  had  was  one  night  when  Dumpling,  being,  I 
suppose,  tipsy,  like  her  master,  fell,  ascending  a  nice 
muddy  hill,  and,  unable  to  rise,  remained  on  her 
knees  until  Pat  Furlong  discovered  them  both  early 
on  Monday  morning — Kelly  loudly  snoring,  the 
glorious  sun  casting  a  flood  of  light  over  a  visage 
thin,  yellow,  and  ghastly — except  a  long,  pointed, 
crimson  nose,  with  a  peculiar  twist  at  the  end,  which 
assumed  a  richer  colouring,  shading  to  the  very  tip 
in  deep  and  glowing  purple;  the  bagpipes  still 
tightly  grasped  under  the  "  professor's  "  arm. 

The  family  of  this  village  musician  was  managed 
like  many  Irish  families — that  is,  not  managed  at 
all ;  indeed,  the  habits  of  the  parents  precluded  even 
the  possibility  of  the  children's  improvement  in  any 
way.  They  moved  about,  a  miscellaneous  mass  of 
brown-red  flesh,  white  teeth,  bushy  elf  locks,  which 
rarely  submitted  to  the  discipline  of  a  comb,  and 


KELLY  THE   PIPER  163 

party-coloured  rags ;  yet  were,  nevertheless,  cheer- 
ful, strong,  and  healthy.  Clooney  evinced  much 
musical  talent,  which  served  as  an  excuse  for  idle- 
ness, uniform  and  premeditated.  Molly  was  the  best 
jigger  for  ten  miles  round ;  and  Ellen  would  have 
been  a  pretty,  roly-poly,  industrious  gipsy,  if  she 
had  not  been  born  to  the  lazy  inheritance  of  the 
Kelly  household :  as  it  was,  she  did  more  than  all 
the  brats  put  together ;  and  as  her  little  bare  feet 
puddled  through  the  extraordinary  black  mud 
which  formed  a  standing  pool  around  the  stately 
dunghill  that  graced  the  door,  she  was  welcomed 
by  her  father's  salutation,  "  The  top  o'  the  morning 
to  my  colleen  ! — Little  to  fill  the  noggins  ye've  got 
wid  ye.  Well,  niver  mind  ;  clane  water's  wholesome, 
and  lighter  for  the  stomach,  maybe,  nor  milk ;  any- 
way, the  pratees  are  laughing,  and  I  must  make 
haste  for  once.  Where's  Molly  ?  " 

"  She's  just  stept  out  to  look  after  her  pumps  for 
the  pathern ;  but  niver  heed,  we'll  not  wait,"  replied 
Mrs.  Kelly,  pouring  the  potatoes  into  the  kish. 

"  It's  little  use,  thin,  mother,  honey,  there'll  be  for 
pumps,  or  pipes,  or  shillalahs,  this  harvest ;  for 
there's  black  news  for  the  boys  and  girls,  and  it's 
myself  was  sorry  to  hear  it.  There's  to  be  no 
pathern." 

"  No  pathern ! "  screamed  Mrs.  Kelly,  letting 
half  the  potatoes  fall  on  the  floor,  to  the  advantage 
of  the  pig,  who  entered  at  the  lucky  moment,  and 
made  good  use  of  his  time ;  while  Kelly  stood  with 
open  mouth,  ready  to  receive  the  one  he  had 


1 64  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

dexterously  peeled  with  his  thumb-nail.  Poor 
man,  he  was  petrified :  the  pattern,  where,  man  and 
boy,  he  had  played,  drank,  and  quarrelled,  in  St. 
Mary's  honour,  for  thirty  years ;  the  pattern,  with 
its  line  of  "  tints,"  covered  with  blankets,  quilts,  and 
quilted  petticoats,  its  stalls  glittering  with  ginger- 
bread husbands  and  wives  for  half  the  country ;  the 
pattern,  where  his  seat,  a  whisky  barrel,  was  placed 
under  a  noble  elm,  in  the  middle  of  the  firm  green- 
sward, where  the  belles  and  the  beaux  of  the  neigh- 
bouring hills  had  footed  gaily,  if  not  gracefully,  to 
"  Moll  Row,"  "  Darby  Kelly,"  or  "  St.  Patrick's  Day," 
until  the  morning  peeped  on  their  revellings,  for 
more  than  a  double  century ! 

"  It's  impossible,  ye  little  lying  hussy ! — who  dare 
stop  the  pathern? — The  pathern,  is  it,  in  honour 
of  the  holy  Vargin ;  for  what  'ud  they  stop  it  ? — 
There  niver  was  even  a  bit  of  a  ruction  at  the 
pathern  o'  Bannow,  since  the  world  was  a  world. 
Ye  wicked  limb,  tell  me  this  moment  who  tould  ye 
this  news  ?  " 

Ellen  looked  at  her  father,  and,  knowing  it  was 
a  word  and  a  blow  with  him  when  he  was  in  a 
passion,  meekly  replied  that  Pat  Kenessy,  the 
landlord  of  "  St.  Patrick,"  had  been  turned  off  the 
pattern  field,  when  in  the  act  of  striking  the  tent- 
poles,  to  be  ready  for  the  next  day,  by  Mister  Lamb, 
the  Squire's  Scotch  steward ;  and  that  Mister 
Lamb  had  informed  Kenessy  that  his  master  would 
not  permit  any  pattern  to  be  held  on  his  estate, 
as  it  only  drew  together  a  parcel  of  vagabonds,  oc- 


KELLY  THE   PIPER  165 

casioned  idleness  and  quarrels  among  men  and 
women,  and  flirtation  and  courtship  among  girls 
and  boys ;  and  that  a  constable  was  ready  to  take 
the  first  man  to  Wexford  jail  who  pitched  a  tent. 

Poor  Kelly! — at  first  he  would  not  believe  it; 
but  some  of  the  neighbours  confirmed  the  informa- 
tion, and  soon  a  council  assembled  in  his  cabin  to 
consider  what  measures  ought  to  be  adopted.  The 
peasantry  could  not  bear  to  give  up  quietly  the  only 
amusement  they  enjoyed  during  the  year. 

"That's  what  comes  o'  the  Squire's  living  so 
long  in  England,"  said  Blind  Barry.  "  I  thought 
little  good  it  would  end  in  when  he  said,  t'other 
day,  that  my  cabin  must  be  whitewashed  every  six 
months." 

"  He  threatened  to  turn  my  dunghill  into  the 
ditch,"  cried  the  wrathful  piper ;  "  but  if  he  dares 
to  lay  his  finger  on  it " 

"  Don't  fear,"  said  Mickey  the  tailor,  who  pos- 
sessed great  reputation,  both  as  a  wit  and  a  sage, 
and  who  did  not  enter  regularly  into  the  confer- 
ence, but  stood  leaning  against  the  door-post — 
"  don't  fear.  Great  men  don't  like  to  dirty  their 
fingers  with  trifles." 

"  It's  long  afore  his  uncle  would  have  done  so ; 
but  the  good  ould  times  is  past,  and  there's  no 
frinds  for  poor  Ireland  now,"  sighed  Paddy  Lumley, 
an  old,  white-headed  man,  more  than  eighty  years 
of  age. 

"  It's  hard,  very  hard,  though,"  continued  Kelly. 
"  He  knows  well  enough  that  the  trifle  I  gets  at 


l66  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

the  pathern,  for  my  bits  o'  music,  is  all  I  have  in 
the  wide  world  to  depind  on  for  the  rint ;  and  sure 
it's  little  I  picks  up  the  counthry  round  to  keep 
the  skreeds  on  the  woman  and  childer — God  help 
thim  ! — to  say  nothin'  o'  the  'atin'  and  the  drinkin'. 
But  niver  mind ;  if  there's  no  pathern,  my  curse 
be  upon  him  and  his !  May  the  grass,  and  the 
nettle,  and  the " 

"  Asy,  asy,  Kelly.!"  cried  the  tailor;  "asy,  take 
it  asy.  Can't  ye  think — never  despair,  says  I ;  and 
so  I  said  to  Jim  Holloway  whin  his  wife  died : 
never  despair,  says  I.  He  took  my  advice,  and 
married  agin  in  three  weeks.  Why  won't  one  field 
do  ye  instead  of  another  ?  Can't  ye  borrow  another 
place  for  the  day,  man  alive  ?  " 

"Did  ye  ever  hear  such  gumshogue!"  cried 
Blind  Barry.  "Who'd  gainsay  the  Squire,  d'ye 
think  ?  Which  of  his  tinants  would  say  ay  to  his 
nay,  and  have  a  turn-out,  or  a  double  rint,  for  their 
punishment  ?  " 

"Barry,  will  ye  whisht!  Listen  to  me,  Kelly, 
and  we'll  have  the  pathern  yet.  Clane  yerself, 
and  go  up  to  the  big  house  to  Mister  Herriott. 
He's  an  ould  residenter,  and  has  a  heart  to  feel  for 
and  a  hand  to  relieve  the  poor  man's  sorrow.  Let 
him  know  the  rights  of  it,  and  I'll  go  bail  he'll 
lend  you  some  field  of  his  own.  And  as  to  the 
Squire,  you  know  he  does  not  care  a  brass  farthin' 
for  him,  on  account  of  the  half-acre  field  they  two 
went  to  law  about — I  hear  say  it  cost  them,  one 
way  or  t'other,  a  clear  seven  hundred ;  and  the 


KELLY   THE   PIPER  l6/ 

field  itself  not  worth  a  traneen.     But  that's  neither 
here  nor  there." 

"  Mick,"  said  Kelly,  "  you  have  it ! — By  the 
powers,  I'll  go  off  straight.  To  be  sure,  if  we  have 
a  pathern,  it's  little  matter  where,  excipt  that  it's 
pleasure  for  the  girls  to  dance  on  the  same  sod 
their  mothers  danced  afore  them.  But  niver  mind 
— won't  some  o'  ye  come  to  back  me  ?  " 

"  No  occasion  in  life  for  that ;  but  we'll  go  wid 
ye  to  the  gate,  and  hear  the  luck  when  ye  come 
out." 

Kelly  was  soon  ready,  and  set  off  on  the  embassy 
in  high  spirits.  As  they  journeyed,  they  talked  over 
the  matter  more  at  length,  suggested  a  variety  of 
fields  and  meadows,  and  told  the  story  to  all  they 
met.  The  Irish,  careless  of  their  time,  are  ever 
ready  to  "tell  or  hear  some  new  thing";  and 
Kelly's  train  became  almost  a  troop  before  it 
arrived  at  the  hill  which  overlooked  Mr.  Herriott's 
small  but  beautiful  domain. 

It  was,  indeed,  very  beautiful :  the  old  mansion, 
with  its  tall  white  chimneys,  bursting  from  a  thick 
grove  of  many-coloured  foliage  that,  early  in 
August,  was  deepening  into  the  brown  of  autumn  ; 
the  long,  straight  line  of  trees  that  marked  the 
avenue,  and  the  bright  blue  sea  at  the  distance, 
reflecting  a  cloudless  sky;  the  hill, sloping  gradu- 
ally down  to  the  back  of  the  house,  which,  though 
not  exactly  a  common,  was  rendered  nearly  so  by 
the  kindness  of  its  possessor,  who  gave  grass  to  half 
the  lazy  cows  and  troublesome  pigs  in  the  parish. 


168  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  We  can  see  the  sign  of  the  Welsh  coast,  the 
day's  so  clear,"  said  Mick. 

"  The  dickons  drive  it  back,  say  I !— the  Welsh 
and  English  are  all  foreigners  alike;  and  its  o' 
them  all  the  bother  comes,"  retorted  Kelly. 

"  How  dark  the  mountain  of  Forth  looks !  Do 
you  remimber  once  when  it  looked  bright,  Jim  ?  " 
said  Hurling  Jack  to  a  tall,  powerful  man,  who  strode 
foremost  of  the  party. 

"  Do  I  not !  The  red-coats  were  in  the  hollow, 
and  the  boys  on  the  hill :  they  covered  it  like  a 
swarm  o'  bees.  Och !  if  we  had  but  attacked  thim 
as  I  wanted,  not  a  mother's  son  would  have  lived 
to  tell  the  story ;  but  they  got  to  the  whisky  and 
the  pipes,  and  the  reinforcement  came  up,  and  it 
was  all  over.  Kelly,  I  remimber  you  were  blind 
with  the  drink,  and  yet  ye  kept  on  playing  for  the 
dear  life — 

'  We'll  down  wid  the  orange,  and  up  wid  the  green ; 
Success  to  the  croppies  wherever  they're  seen  ! ' " 

"Whisht,  Jim,  whisht!"  cried  Kelly,  looking 
about  quite  frightened ;  "  how  do  you  know  who's 
listening? — and,  as  I'm  a  sinner,  yon's  the  master 
down  in  the  glin,  looking  as  mild  as  new  milk." 

"  How  can  ye  tell  how  he  looks,  and  his  back  to 
ye,  ye  nataral  ?  "  slyly  inquired  the  tailor.  "  But 
I'm  sorry  he  is  there,  for  I  thought  we  might  have 
taken  the  short  cut  through  the  round  meadow." 

"  We  may  do  that  still,"  replied  Kelly,  "  for  his 
honour's  too  much  the  gintleman  to  look  back 


IRISH   MERRYMAKING 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,  R.S.A. 


KELLY  THE  PIPER  169 

whin  once  on  the  road :  and  there's  others  know 
that  as  well  as  me,  I'm  thinking ;  for  I  see  Biddy 
Golfer  turning  her  two-year-ould  calf  in  through 
the  gap.  Well,  that  bates  all — and  she  only  a 
Kerry  woman  ! " 

Kelly  and  his  friends  were,  in  some  measure, 
disappointed.  They  certainly  took  the  short  cut, 
and  his  honour  did  not  look  back,  but  he  did  as 
bad  :  he  seated  himself  deliberately  on  the  wheel 
of  a  car  that  was  turned  upside  down  in  the  ditch- 
side,  and  answered  all  the  purposes  of  gate  and 
turnstile ;  whistled  two  rambling  spaniels  to  his 
side,  to  share  the  caresses  so  liberally  bestowed 
on  Neptune,  a  huge  Newfoundland  dog,  who  dis- 
dained frolic  and  fun  of  all  description,  and  looked 
up  in  Mr.  Herriott's  face  with  an  owl-like  gravity 
that  made  it  doubtful  whether  his  steadiness  pro- 
ceeded from  sagacity  or  stupidity.  As  the  crowd 
advanced,  he  drew  still  closer  to  his  master's  side, 
and  in  low,  sullen  growls  expressed  much  dis- 
pleasure at  so  ill-dressed  a  troop  approaching  the 
avenue. 

"  We  are  in  for  it,"  whispered  Kelly,  in  a  low 
voice,  "  so  we  may  as  well  put  a  bould  face  on  it 
at  once,  and  spake  altogether." 

In  another  moment  Mr.  Herriott  was  surrounded 
by  the  bareheaded  company;  Kelly  and  Mickey 
the  tailor  a  little  in  advance. 

"  Every  blessing  in  life  on  yer  honour ! — and 
proud  are  we  all  to  see  yer  honour  looking  so 
fresh  and  bravely  this  fine  morning." 


I/O  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  Kelly,  is  it  you  ? — and  Mick  ? — and— why, 
what  earthly  business  brings  such  a  gang  of  you 
here?  Have  I  not  warned  you,  over  and  over 
again,  not  to  make  your  confounded  paths  across 
the  clover  field? — And  I  see  half  the  barley  is 
destroyed  before  the  sickle  can  be  put  to  it,  from 
your  everlasting  trespasses." 

"  Is  it  ?  Oh,  then,  more's  the  pity,  to  say  nothin' 
o'  the  shame !  "  exclaimed  the  piper,  looking  very 
sorrowful.  "  But  we  had  no  intintion  in  life  to 
trespass ;  only  we  saw  yer  honour  from  the  top  o' 
the  hill,  and  as  we  had  a  little  business  wid  yer 
honour,  to  save  time,  and  not  to  trouble  ye  at  the 
house,  we  thought  it  best  to  take  to  the  path.  We've 
not  done  a  taste  of  harm,  yer  honour." 

"  Well,  Kelly,  do  not  do  so  again ;  it  sets  a  bad 
example,  and  destroys  the  fields.  (Neptune,  down, 
sir !)  But  what's  your  business  ? — Another  disagree- 
ment with  your  worthy  lady  ? — or  a  quarrel  ?- 


"Nothin'  at  all  at  all  of  that  sort,  sir;  it's  far 
worse  nor  that,  yer  honour,  long  life  to  ye  !  It's  all 
o'  the  pathern.  A  burning  sin,  and  a  shame,  and  a 
disgrace  to  the  whole  town  and  counthry :  the  likes 
of  it  was  niver  heard  since  the  world  was  born  ! " 

"  Is  that  the  way  to  discoorse  a  gintleman  ?  " 
interrupted  Mick.  "  How  can  his  honour  understand 
ye? — ye're  for  all  the  world  like  a  born  nataral," 
and  he  pushed  the  diminished  piper  back,  and,  ad- 
vancing one  foot  forward,  commenced  his  oration,  at 
the  same  time  rubbing  the  brim  of  his  hat  with  much 


KELLY   THE   PIPER  171 

dexterity :  "  To-morrow,  as  is  well  known  to  yer 
honour,  being  a  raale  scholar,  and  a  born  gintleman, 
— not  like  some  neighbours,  who  have  a  power  o' 
money  and  nothing  else, — will  be  "  (crossing  himself) 
"the  blessed  dayof  our  Lady,  and  always  the  pathern 
day  of  the  parishes  of  Kilkaven  and  Bannow.  Now 
yer  honour  minds  the  little  square  field  at  the  foot 
o'  the  hill — always,  in  the  memory  o'  man,  called 
the  pathern  field.  Well,  it  has  plased  t'other  Squire 
— not  that  I'd  iver  think  of  turning  my  tongue  aginst 
the  gintry,  the  raale  gintry,  yer  honour"  (bowing  low 
to  Mr.  Herriott)— "  he  has  thought  fit  to  forbid  the 
pathern,  and  to  threathen  to  sind  the  first  man 
caught  pitching  a  tint-pole  on  his  land  by  a  con- 
stable to  Wexford  jail." 

Mr.  Herriott  possessed  a  kind  and  benevolent 
temper;  he  loved  to  see  the  peasantry  happy  in 
their  own  way,  and  spent  his  fortune  on  his  estate, 
anxious,  both  by  precept  and  example,  to  instruct 
and  serve  his  tenantry ;  but  he  had  a  decided,  old- 
fashioned,  Irish  hatred  of  jails,  constables,  lawyers, 
soldiers,  etc. ;  and  often  did  he  glory  in  the  fact  that 
neither  soldier,  constable,  lawyer,  physician,  nor 
water-guard  were  within  twelve  miles  of  his  man- 
sion. "  The  rich  Squire,"  as  he  was  called,  was  a 
very  good  man  as  times  went,  but  so  fond  of  carry- 
ing everything  with  a  high  hand  that  the  benefits 
he  conferred  on  the  poor  (and  they  were  many) 
were  seldom  received  with  gratitude,  because  he 
made  little  allowance  for  the  customs  or  foibles  of 
those  among  whom  he  dwelt.  Moreover,  he  loved 


1/2  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

soldiers,  talked  of  establishing  a  land  and  water 
guard,  and  a  dispensary,  in  the  parish:  all  good 
things,  but  yet  decidedly  opposed  to  the  views  of 
his  more  gentle  and  amiable  neighbour. 

"  Indeed,  a  constable ! " 

"  Ay,  yer  honour,  to  a  peaceable  parish." 

"  You  have  been,  and  are,  a  peaceable  set  of  men, 
considering  you  are  Irish,"  added  Mr.  Herriott, 
smiling;  "and  certainly  I  believe  no  one  here 
had  anything  to  do  with  that  unfortunate  riot  at 
Duncormuck,  where  poor  Murtough  was  killed." 

"  No,  no,  yer  honour,"  they  loudly  and  unitedly 
replied ;  one,  in  a  low  voice,  added,  "He  was  only 
a  Connaught  man  after  all ! " 

"  I  should  be  sorry,  indeed,  if  the  Bannow  boys 
wanted  either  soldiers  or  constables  to  keep  them 
in  order ;  but  I  do  not  see  how  I  can  interfere.  I 
cannot  oblige  Mr.  Desmond  to  lend  you  the  field." 

"  No ;  but  yer  honour  could  give  us  the  loan  of 
one  of  yer  own  to  keep  our  pathern  in — and  long 
may  yer  honour  reign  over  us." 

"  Amin  ! "  said  Kelly. 

"  One  of  my  own  ?  I  do  not  think  I  could  do 
that,"  replied  Mr.  Herriott.  "  The  fields  that  join 
the  road  are  surrounded  by  a  bounds-ditch  and 
young  plantations ;  and  as  to  those  in  the  centre 
of  the  domain — impossible,  quite." 

"  No  harm  would  happen  to  the  trees,"  replied 
Kelly,  "  but  it  would  be  very  inconvanient,  no  doubt. 
So  I  was  jist  thinking,  if  yer  honour  would  have  no 
objection,  the  place  forenent  the  grate  gate  would 


KELLY  THE  PIPER  173 

be  quite  the  thing ;  and  I'll  go  bail  that  they'll  all 
walk  as  if  'twas  on  eggs  they  were  threading,  and 
neither  gate  nor  green  will  resave  the  laste  damage 
in  life." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Herriott ;  "  remember  you 
are  security  for  the  good  conduct  of  your  friends." 

"  Oh,  every  blissing  attind  yer  honour,  and  the 
mistress,  and  all  the  good  family ! — Hurrah,  boys  ! 
we've  gained  the  day,"  cried  the  triumphant  piper, 
capering  about  and  snapping  his  fingers.  "  We'll 
jig  it,  and  peaceably  too;  no  quieter  lads  in  the 
counthry.  If  that  ould  scoundrel,  Tim  M'Shane, 
and  his  fiddle  comes  within  a  mile  o'  me,  by  the 
powers  I'll " 

"  Stop,  stop,  my  good  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Herriott, 
"  peace ;  no  disturbance.  The  slightest  fray,  and, 
depend  upon  it,  I  will  set  my  face  against  fairs  and 
patterns  for  the  next  ten  years." 

"Oh,  God  bless  yer  honour!  I'll  take  an  oath 
against  fighting  and  whisky,  if  yer  honour  wishes, 
with  heart's  delight." 

"  Never  mind :  if  you  swore  against  it  in  one 
parish,  you  would  take  it  in  another ;  that  would 
be  pretty  much  the  same  thing,  I  fancy.  There,  go 
the  road  way,  and  now  no  more  talk  this  morning," 
continued  the  kind  man,  as  he  rose  from  his  seat. 
"  I  will  walk  up  with  the  ladies,  and  see  that  you  are 
all  quiet  and  steady,  to-morrow  evening." 

"  Long  lifes,""  powers  o'  blessings,"  "  stores  o'  good 
luck  "  were  bestowed  upon  "  him  and  his,"  and  the 
parties  pursued  their  separate  paths. 


1/4  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"The  grate  gate"  terminated  the  long  straight 
avenue  before  mentioned,  where,  sheltered  by  some 
five  or  six  noble  beech  and  horse-chestnut  trees,  and 
peeping  from  amidst  a  profusion  of  sweet-brier  and 
wild  roses,  stood  a  little  lodge,  meek  and  lowly 
as  a  hedge  primrose,  with  two  lattice  windows 
and  a  slated  roof — that  unusual  covering  of  Irish 
houses. 

The  interior  of  this  pretty  cot  was  more  interest- 
ing even  than  its  outward  seeming.  Within,  sat  an 
old  female  spinning,  her  white  hair  turned  up  in 
front,  a  clean  kerchief  pinned  over  her  cap  and 
knotted  under  her  chin,  and  a  short  red  cloak, 
fastened  by  a  broad  black  riband :  her  face  was 
thickly  wrinkled,  perhaps  by  age,  perhaps  by  sorrow. 
When  erect,  her  figure  must  have  been  tall  and  im- 
posing; and  long,  bony  fingers  and  sinewy  arms 
told  of  strength  and  exertion.  At  her  feet  was 
sitting,  on  what  the  Irish  peasantry  call  a  "boss," 
a  very  slight  girl,  with  a  quantity  of  light  hair, 
shading  a  face  of  almost  unearthly  paleness :  she 
was  carding  flax,  and  laying  it,  in  flakes,  on  a  clean 
table  at  her  side.  The  maiden,  as  she  conversed 
with  the  aged  crone,  raised  her  large  blue  eyes  to 
her  withered  face,  and  gazed  on  it  with  as  much 
affection  as  if  it  possessed  the  most  fascinating 
beauty;  while  the  woman's  harsh  voice  softened 
when  she  spoke  to  a  being  evidently  so  dear  to  the 
best  feelings  of  her  heart. 

"Oh,  blessed  be  the  day,  or  rather  the  night, 
whin  I  saw  ye  first,  mavourneen  ! — for  you  are  the 


KELLY  THE   PIPER  175 

blessin'  o'  my  life,  and  what  was  sorrow  to  you 
was  joy  to  me." 

"  Joy  to  me,  nurse,  not  sorrow ;  for  if  I  lost  one 
parent,  I  found  another  in  you." 

"  A  poor  parent,  my  darlint  May,  but  a  fond. 
However,  God's  will  be  done :  ould  Nelly  Clarey's 
heart  is  not  could  yet." 

Old  Nelly  Clarey,  in  her  early  days,  had  been  a 
bathing-woman,  and,  accustomed  to  the  sea  from 
infancy,  had  become  almost  amphibious.  Her  fear- 
less disposition  induced  the  ladies  who  visited  the 
beautiful  banks  of  Bannow  in  summer  to  rely 
solely  on  her  guidance ;  and,  moreover,  she  could 
row  a  boat  as  well  as  any  man  in  the  country. 
There  are  a  pair  of  green  islands,  about  three 
miles  from  the  borough  of  Ballytigue,  called  the 
"  Keeroes,"  where,  in  summer,  a  few  starved  sheep, 
or  one  or  two  goats,  wander  over  about  an  acre 
of  moss  and  weeds.  In  spring-tides  and  stormy 
weather  these  rocks  are  very  dangerous  to  vessels 
whose  pilots  are  not  fully  acquainted  with  the 
channel ;  and  a  winter  seldom  passed  without 
some  shipwreck  occurring  either  on  or  near  them. 
A  dark  squally  morning  succeeded  a  fearful  night 
of  storm,  about  fifteen  years  before  the  period  of 
my  story.  The  hovel  Nelly  then  lived  in  was  so 
near  the  beach  that  even  the  rippling  of  the 
summer  surge  cheered  the  loneliness  of  her  dwell- 
ing ;  but,  on  the  occasion  to  which  I  refer,  it  was 
not  the  "  soft  music  of  the  waters  "  that  roused  her 
from  her  bed,  but  the  often-repeated  boom,  sound- 


176  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

ing  above  the  tempest,  which  she  well  knew  to  be  the 
minute-gun  of  distress  from  some  perishing  vessel. 

The  early  dawn  beheld  her  wandering  among 
rocks  accessible  only  to  the  sea-birds  and  herself 
She  clambered  the  highest  point,  and  extended  her 
gaze  over  the  ocean,  which  still  angrily  chafed  and 
growled  along  the  shore.  Beyond  the  breakers  the 
surface  was  somewhat  smooth ;  but  little  was  seen 
to  mark  where  the  islands  rested,  save  the  white 
and  sparkling  foam,  dashing  and  glittering  in  the 
early  light,  finely  contrasted  with  the  deep  colouring 
of  the  sky  and  water.  Nelly  still  gazed,  and  now 
shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand ;  for  she  thought 
she  discovered  something  like  a  motionless  mast 
amongst  the  distant  breakers.  She  was  confirmed 
in  this  opinion  by  observing  several  floating  spars 
and  casks  rapidly  borne  towards  the  mainland. 
On  descending  to  the  beach,  she  found  many  of 
the  neighbours  anxiously  watching  the  approach  of 
what  they  considered  lawful  plunder. 

"  The  wreck  is  between  the  Keeroes,  Jack,"  said 
Nelly  to  a  rough,  shaggy-looking  man,  who,  half  in 
and  half  out  of  the  water,  was  straining  every  nerve 
to  haul  in  a  cask  in  danger  of  dashing  against  a 
huge  dark  mass  of  rock  that  jutted  into  the  sea. 

"  And  what's  it  to  you  or  me,  ould  girl  ? — Twould 
be  fitter  for  you  to  be  in  your  bed  than  down  on 
the  wild  shore,  with  yer  whity  brown  hair  streaming 
about  yer  shoulders.  Ye  look  for  all  the  world  like 
a  witch ! " 

"  It's  you,  and  the  likes  of  you,"  she  replied, "  that 


KELLY  THE  PIPER  177 

bring  disgrace  upon  poor  Ireland.  Phil  Doran's 
boat  has  passed  through  breakers  worse  nor  these, 
and  it  shall  go  out,  or  I'll  know  the  rason  why; 
and  so  many  poor  strangers,  maybe,  dying  at  this 
blessed  moment  on  thim  islands  ! " 

"  It's  few  '11  go  wid  ye,  then,"  replied  the  man,  as 
he  grappled  with  the  cask  ;  and,  pulling  it  in,  added, 
"  If  it's  strangers  ye're  thinking  of,  there's  one  come 
already,"  pointing  to  a  heap  of  seaweed — "  his  bed 
is  soft  enough,  at  any  rate.  The  ould  fool,"  he  con- 
tinued, as  Nelly  strided  towards  the  spot,  "  she'll 
take  more  trouble  about  that  sinseless  corpse  than 
she  would  to  look  after  the  bits  o'  godsinds  the  wild 
waters  bring  us." 

Nelly  found  the  body  of  a  youth,  apparently 
about  eighteen,  nearly  embedded  in  seaweed.  She 
disentangled  it  with  speed  and  tenderness,  carried 
it  up  the  cliffs,  dripping  as  it  was,  with  perfect  ease, 
and  laid  it  out  before  the  turf  fire  in  her  humble 
hut.  One  of  the  arms  was  broken  and  sorely 
mangled  ;  and  the  bitten  lip  and  extended  eyelids 
plainly  told  that  the  youth  had  wrestled  daringly 
with  death. 

"  Ye'll  no  more  gladden  your  mother's  heart,  or 
bring  joy  to  your  father's  home,"  sighed  the  ex- 
cellent creature,  when  perfectly  convinced  that 
restoratives  were  useless.  "  God  comfort  the  mother 
that  bore  ye  ! — for  ye  were  brave  and  handsome, 
and  maybe  the  pride  o'  more  hearts  than  one." 

As  the  morning  advanced,  tokens  of  extensive 
shipwreck  crowded  the  beach,  and  many  respect- 


1 78  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

able  inhabitants  assembled,  to  prevent  plunder. 
The  surf  still  ran  so  high  that  Nelly's  pleadings 
were  disregarded.  Although  the  mast  of  the  lost 
vessel  was  now  distinctly  seen,  the  hardiest  boat- 
man would  not  venture  out  to  the  Keeroes. 

"  I  cannot  call  ye  Irishmen,"  said  she,  after  using 
many  fruitless  arguments  to  urge  her  neighbours 
to  attempt  the  passage ;  "  vile  Cromellians  are  ye 
all,  wid  not  a  drop  of  true  Milesian  blood  in  yer 
shrivelled  veins!" 

The  evening  sun  had  cast  a  deep  red  light  over 
the  ocean,  whose  waters  were  less  disturbed  than 
they  had  been  at  noon  ;  and  the  moon  rose,  with 
calm  majesty,  over  the  subsiding  waves — attended 
by  her  train  of  silent  but  sparkling  handmaids, 
scattering  light  and  brilliancy  over  her  path. 

Nelly  could  not  sleep  !  Again  she  clambered  the 
"  black  rock,"  and  scared  the  sea-gull  from  its  nest 
— anxious  to  ascertain,  although  it  was  almost 
impossible,  if  any  living  object  remained  on  the 
Keeroes,  now  more  distinctly  visible.  As  her  eye 
wandered  along  the  shore,  it  rested  on  Phil  Doran's 
boat,  which  had  been  drawn  up  on  the  shingles. 
Her  mind  was  at  once  made  up  to  a  daring  enter- 
prise. No  village  clock  tolled  the  knell  of  the 
departing  hours,  but  she  knew  it  must  be  near 
midnight.  She  returned  to  her  cabin,  wrapt  a  long 
cloak  around  her,  and  secured  a  bottle  of  spirits  in 
the  hood.  A  few  minutes  found  her  on  the  strand  : 
the  oars  were  in  the  strong  but  rude  fishing-boat, 
and  she  soon  drew  it  to  the  water.  When  in  the 


KELLY  THE  PIPER  179 

act  of  pushing  off,  a  head  appeared  from  behind 
one  of  the  rocks,  and  a  voice  exclaimed,  "  Bothera- 
tion to  ye,  on  what  fool's  journey  are  ye  now  ?  It's 
myself  believes  ye've  doings  with  the  Ould  One,  for 
there's  no  rest  for  a  body  near  ye,  day  nor  night." 

"  Come,  Jack,"  replied  the  woman,  convinced  that 
assistance  would  be  useful ;  "  it's  calm  enough  now, 
and  ye  may  find  something  on  thim  islands  you'd 
like  to  have.  I  cannot  rest  in  pace  while  I  think 
there  may  be  a  living  thing  on  the  rocks." 

The  love  of  plunder  and  the  love  of  enterprise — 
the  latter,  perhaps,  inspired  by  the  whisky  he  had 
drank  during  the  day — urged  Jack  to  accompany 
the  woman.  As  they  approached  the  Keeroes, 
their  little  bark  leaped  lightly  over  the  billows,  and 
Nelly,  like  others  of  her  sex,  gloried  in  her  opinion 
being  correct ;  for  the  mast  and  part  of  the  rigging 
•of  the  vessel  still  adhered  to  the  wreck,  and  ab- 
solutely hung  over  the  largest  island. 

Jack  commenced  prowling  for  plunder ;  Nelly 
could  not  perceive  a  single  body  on  the  shore.  At 
length  she  discovered,  midway  the  mast,  something 
like  a  female  figure,  so  securely  fastened  that  even 
the  waters  must  fail  to  disentangle  the  cords  and 
scarfs  with  which  the  hands  of  affection  had  secured 
it  to  what  appeared  the  last  refuge. 

"  It's  a  fay  male,  at  all  events,"  said  Jack,  when 
Nelly  succeeded  in  fixing  his  attention  ;  "  I'm  sar- 
tin  it's  a  faymale ;  so  here  goes  ! — Bad  as  ye  think 
me — bad  as  maybe  I  am — Jack  Connor  never  did  a 
bad  turn  to  the  women." 


180  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

He  managed  to  get  to  the  mast,  cut  the  braces, 
and  lower  the  corpse  (for  so  it  was),  still  enveloped 
in  many  shawls,  into  Nelly's  arms. 

"  She's  gone,  as  well  as  the  boy  ye  picked  up  this 
morning,  Nelly,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  God  in  His  mercy  save  us  all !"  she  exclaimed, 
falling  on  her  knees,  "  God  in  His  mercy  save  us  ! 
Her  stiff  arms  are  locked  over  a  living  baby,  and 
its  little  head  is  on  her  bare  bosom  ! " 

It  was  even  so.  The  lady  was  dead  ;  her  weak 
frame  had  been  unable  to  retain  life  amid  so  many 
horrors,  and  her  spirit  could  not  long  have  lingered 
behind  his,  whose  last  efforts  were  exerted  to  pre- 
serve the  objects  of  his  purest  affections,  when  to 
others  "  all  earth  was  but  one  thought — and  that 
was — death ! " 

Jack — croppy,  smuggler,  wrecker,  poacher,  white- 
boy,  rogue,  and  rapparee,  as  he  either  was  or  had 
been — Jack  Connor  (I  wish  to  do  everybody  justice) 
placed  the  unfortunate  lady  carefully  in  the  boat, 
took  off  his  jacket,  which  he  added  as  another 
covering  to  the  still  living  infant,  and,  without 
plundering  a  single  article  or  uttering  a  single 
sentence,  rowed  steadily  to  the  shore.  As  he 
carried  the  body  up  the  cliffs,  the  morning  light 
was  stealing  over  the  now  calm  ocean.  "  Nelly," 
said  he,  as  he  rested  the  burden  on  her  bed, 
"  Nelly,  I'll  never  gainsay  ye  agin  :  if  I'd  done  yer 
bidding  yesterday,  that  crathur  would  be  a  living 
woman  now." 

Nelly's  courage   and   humanity  gained    for  her 


KELLY   THE   PIPER  l8l 

high  approbation.  The  vessel  was  ascertained  to 
have  been  a  Chinese  trader,  on  her  homeward 
passage ;  but  of  the  crew  or  passengers  none 
remained  except  the  infant  the  bathing-woman  had 
so  heroically  rescued. 

Mr.  Herriott  persuaded  Nelly,  for  the  sake  of  her 
adopted  child,  to  take  up  her  abode  at  the  avenue 
lodge.  The  babe  was  called  May,  and  much  did 
Nelly  complain  of  what  she  termed  a  "heathen 
name."  But  Mr.  Herriott  convinced  her  it  was  right, 
as  the  letters  M.  A.  Y.  were  wrought  in  a  bracelet 
found  on  her  mother's  wrist.  No  inquiries  had 
ever  been  made  about  the  little  stranger,  and  her 
story  was  seldom  thought  of;  but  she  was  very 
different  from  the  peasant  children — not  so  fond  of 
play,  and  always  sweetly  serious.  She  heard  the 
intelligence  that  the  pattern  was  to  be  celebrated 
outside  the  great  gates  with  more  fear  than  pleasure, 
and  could  hardly  understand  why  Miss  Kelly  so 
gloried  in  her  father's  having  gained  the  day.  Old 
Nelly  "  stood  up "  for  Mr.  Herriott's  ascendancy 
with  true  clan-like  feeling — not  that  she  cared  for 
the  pattern,  but  she  hated  soldiers,  and  constables, 
and  lawyers,  and  water-guards,  because  she  knew 
"  the  master  "  hated  them  ;  and  so,  in  honour  of  the 
pattern  victory,  she  told  May  that  she  should  cut  as 
good  a  figure  as  any  of  them — and  better  too,  for 
the  matter  of  that.  There  was  a  long,  narrow  scarf, 
that  had  belonged  to  her  mother  (heaven  rest  her 
soul !),  and  she  should  wear  it  as  a  sash,  and  she 
should  dance  too 


1 82  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  I  do  not  care  for  dancing,  dear  nurse,"  observed 
the  pale  girl ;  "  my  heart's  not  in  it :  but  I'll  do  my 
best  to  plase  you  ;  and  I  dare  say  it  will  be  a  merry 
pathern." 

And  so  it  was.  Such  a  pattern  ! — such  a  sight  of 
tents  had  never  been  seen  by  the  oldest  man  in  the 
parish,  except  at  the  fair  of  Ballynasloe,  which,  as 
Kelly  said,  he  had  never  seen,  but  only  heard  of! 
Such  a  "power"  of  people!  There  was  the  old 
Lord  of  Carrick,  as  he  was  called — the  most  re- 
spectable butcher  for  ten  miles  round,  with  his 
bob-wig  over  his  grey  hair,  all  on  one  side,  from 
joy  and  whisky.  There  was  Mickey  the  tailor,  with 
his  seven  sons :  such  fi  ne  boys,  not  one  of  them  under 
six  feet,  and  the  youngest  only  one-and-twenty. 
There  was  Pat  Kenessy's  tent,  with  a  green  flag 
flowingj  without  and  whisky  "gilloure"  flowing 
within.  There  was  Mary -the- Mant,  in  a  "  bran-new 
gown " ;  and  the  five  Misses  Kenessy,  with  every 
earthly  and  heavenly  colour  on  them,  except 
orange.  Then  the  Corishes  —  the  never-ending 
Corishes  ! — Pat  Corish  and  his  childer;  Jim  Corish 
and  his  childer  ;  Tom  Corish  and  his  childer ;  Mat 
Corish  and  his  childer — not  a  quiet  English  family 
of  three  or  four  young  ones  each,  but  ten  or  four- 
teen romping  rogues,  boys  and  girls,  with  stentorian 
lungs  and  herculean  fists.  And  who  would  be  cruel 
enough  to  interrupt  their  amusements,  of  hurling, 
jumping,  eating,  drinking,  dancing,  and  fighting,  in 
pattern  time — while  their  parents  were  employed, 
generally  speaking,  pretty  much  in  the  same  way  ? 


KELLY  THE  PIPER  183 

"  The  grate  tint "  was  reserved  for  dancing,  when 
the  "  quality "  came :  and  often  did  Kelly  parade 
around  it,  to  see  that  all  was  right ;  and  many  a 
longing  look  was  cast  down  the  avenue,  to  watch  if 
the  gentry  were  approaching. 

"The  great  bell  did  not  ring  for  dinner  as  early 
as  usual,"  said  Nelly  Clarey  to  her  adopted,  as  she 
placed  the  last  pin  in  her  sash  and  arranged  the 
flapping  bows  to  her  own  peculiar  taste.  "  I  don't 
want  you  to  go  amongst  them  yet,  till  the  quality 
come ;  but  stay,"  she  continued,  "  let  me  try,"  and 
she  opened  a  little  box,  that  contained  a  chain,  three 
rings,  and  a  small  but  curiously  wrought  bracelet 
— "  stay :  these  were  your  poor  mother's,  and 
beautiful  she  looked,  and  quiet,  when  I  took  them 
off,  and  swore  to  keep  thim  for  you,  my  darlint,  and 
niver  to  let  poverty  part  thim  from  me.  But  it's 
little  poverty  I've  known,  thank  God  ;  and  blessings 
on  him  and  his  that  presarved  us  from  it."  During 
this  speech,  Nelly  had  tried  first  one,  then  the  other, 
of  the  rings  on  May's  fingers.  "  They're  all  too  small 
for  ye :  well,  sure  enough,  she  had  the  sweetest  little 
hand  I  ever  saw.  The  fastening  of  the  chain's  not 
good,  or  ye  might  wear  that ;  but  what's  to  hinder 
ye  putting  on  the  bracelet? — ye  cannot  lose  it. 
M.  A.  Y. — it  was  yer  father's  and  mother's  hair  that 
formed  thim  letters,  I'll  ingage."  May  gazed  upon 
it,  and  tear-drops  gathered  on  her  long  eyelashes. 

"My  child,  almost  my  own  child,"  said  the 
affectionate  Nelly,  "why  do  ye  cry? — You  are 
always  sad  when  others  are  merry.  Ah,  May, 


1 84  IRISH   LIFE   AND  CHARACTER 

May ;  you'd  forget — look ! — there's  Mr.  Herriott,  and 
the  mistress,  and  the  young  lady,  and  the  strange 
dark  gentleman — master's  ould  friend,  they  say — at 
the  gate,  and  you  not  fit  to  be  seen.  There — stand 
asy,  and  wash  your  eyes.  I'll  attind  their  honours ; 
and  in  five  minutes  ye'll  look  my  queen  agin." 

Kelly  and  some  of  his  train  stood  outside  the 
gate  ready  to  receive  "  the  gintry,"  and  way  was 
soon  made  for  them  to  pass  along  the  line  of  tents. 
The  bustling  and  skirmishing  instantly  ceased. 
The  men  held  their  hats  in  their  hands,  and  the 
women  rose  and  courtesied  respectfully,  as  Mr. 
Herriott  and  his  family  proceeded,  while  many  a 
heartfelt  blessing  followed  their  footsteps. 

Perhaps  the  most  perfect  happiness  in  the  world 
is  that  which  a  good  Irish  landlord  enjoys  when 
his  tenantry  are  really  devoted  to  his  service ; 
because  their  devotion  is  manifested  by  those 
external  signs  which  can  only  emanate  from  an 
enthusiastic  temperament.  "  How  well  his  honour 
looks! — sure  it's  a  blessing  to  see  him;  and  the 
mistress  so  queen-like,  and  yet  so  humble,  with 
her  kind  smile,  and  asking  after  the  childer,  so 
motherly." 

"  Who's  the  stranger  ?  " 

"  From  foreign  parts,  I  b'lieve,  by  his  dark  skin." 

"Very  like:  in  all  yer  born  days,  did  ye  ever 
see  anything  like  the  state  Kelly  takes  on  himself? 
To  be  sure  he's  o'  very  dacent  people,  and  the  best 
piper  in  the  whole  barony ;  but  there's  rason  in  all 
things,  and  there'll  be  a  power  of  gintry  in  the 


PRATIES  AND   POINT 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,  R.S.A. 


KELLY  THE  PIPER  185 

pathern  before  night.  Mr.  Cormack  and  the  ladies, 
Mr.  Jocelyn,  and  Mr.  Lambton,  and  maybe  they 
won't  put  up  wid  Kelly's  talk,  like  the  rest." 

"  Never  heed  ;  sure,  they  all  know  his  ways.  But 
come,"  and  the  oldest  crone  of  the  assembly  rose 
off  a  seat,  where  four  or  five, "  withered  and  wild  in 
their  attire,"  had  been  sitting  smoking  their  "  du- 
deens,"  and  making  observations  on  everybody, 
under  the  shadow  of  one  of  the  great  trees.  "  Come, 
they're  crowding  into  the  tint,  and  we'll  be  all  be- 
hind, like  the  cow's  tail,  if  we  don't  make  haste." 

Kelly  had  taken  his  seat,  or,  rather,  erected  his 
throne,  on  the  top  of  one  of  the  largest  casks  that 
could  be  procured  in  the  parish ;  and  on  forms,  at 
each  side  of  the  musician,  were  seated  the  "  gentle- 
folk " — a  small  space  between ;  and  men,  women, 
and  children  crouched  or  stood,  as  they  best  could 
manage,  leaving  sufficient  room  for  the  dancers—- 
for which  purpose,  certainly,  not  much  was  required, 
as  either  reel  or  jig  can  be  performed  on  a  good- 
sized  door,  always  taken  off  its  hinges,  and  laid  on 
"  the  sod  "  for  the  purpose. 

The  wide  entrance  to  the  tent  was  crowded  with 
a  mass  of  laughing  Irish  faces  beaming  with  joy. 

Paddy  Madder — who  but  Paddy  Madder  was  fit 
to  open  the  ball  ?  Paddy,  the  oldest  man  in  the 
parish,  and,  in  his  youth,  it  was  said  (for  none 
remembered  it),  the  finest  dancer  ever  seen  in  all 
Ireland.  Paddy  acquitted  himself  nobly,  consider- 
ing that  he  had  numbered  eighty-and-two  years ; 
and  Mr.  Herriott  placed  the  old  man  by  his  side, 


1 86  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

and  heard  with  delight  of  the  youthful  feats  which 
age  so  dearly  loves  to  dwell  upon. 

Miss  Kelly  next  dropped  her  bob  courtesy  to 
young  Tom  Corish ;  who,  after  "  covering  the 
buckle  "  to  admiration,  and  beating  his  partner  at 
the  "  highland  fling,"  made  "  a  remarkable  genteel 
bow"  to  poor  May,  heedless  of  the  smiles  and 
approbation  pert  Jane  Roche  bestowed  on  his  per- 
formance. May  was  not  at  all  flattered  by  the  dis- 
tinction, and  clung  to  her  nurse's  side,  until  desired, 
in  an  authoritative  tone,  by  Kelly,  to  "  step  out,  and 
not  look  so  sheepish."  May  danced,  I  must  confess, 
very  badly,  but  she  looked  very  lovely :  timidity  and 
exercise  gave  a  colour  to  her  cheek  which  it  seldom 
possessed,  and  her  light,  sylph-like  form,  graced  by 
the  flowing  sash,  formed  a  strange  contrast  to  the 
almost  gigantic  figure  of  her  partner. 

"  Who  is  that  girl  ?  "  inquired  the  strange  gentle- 
man of  Mr.  Herriott. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  who  she  is,  but  she  has  been 
nursed  by  a  very  deserving  woman,  who  attends  our 
gate  lodge." 

"  Indeed." 

The  gentleman  again  looked  at  her.  As  May 
continued,  she  forgot  she  was  the  object  of  general 
attention,  and  danced  with  more  spirit.  The 
stranger  rose  from  his  seat,  and  appeared  to  watch 
her  movements  with  extraordinary  anxiety. 

"It  is  strange,"  said  he  to  Mr.  Herriott,  " but 
that  child  is  singularly  like  one  whom  I  loved  more 
than  any  earthly  being — my  sister  Anna." 


KELLY  THE   PIPER  187 

"  Indeed  !  I  never  saw  her — but  you  often  men- 
tioned her  to  me  when  we  were  schoolfellows.  Do 
you  remember  saying  how  much  you  should  like 
me  for  a  brother-in-law  ?  " 

"  Boyhood's  imaginings,  my  dear  friend.  She 
returned  to  her  family  at  Calcutta,  when  her 
education  was  completed,  and  married  a  young 
merchant,  her  inferior  in  rank — but  I  knew  she  was 
happy,  and  forgave  it,  poor  Anna !  She  accom- 
panied him  to  China,  and,  if  their  traffic  succeeded, 
they  were  to  have  voyaged  to  England.  I  found 
they  embarked  on  board  a  vessel  for  the  purpose, 
but " 

"  Shame  upon  ye  ! "  exclaimed  Tom  Corish,  loud 
enough  to  interrupt  the  narrative  Mr.  Herriott  was 
so  earnestly  attending  to;  "ye  know  his  honour 
does  not  dance,  May,  but  it's  only  manners  for  ye 
to  ax  his  honour's  frind  to  take  a  step,  now  that 
you've  bate  me  clane  off,  lazy  as  you  wint  about 
it." 

Poor  May  made  her  courtesy,  all  panting  and 
blushing  as  she  was,  and,  without  saying  a  word,  or 
looking  up,  extended  her  hand  to  lead  him  to  "  the 
floor";  but  she  uttered  a  piercing  shriek  when, 
seizing  her  arm  with  a  powerful  grasp,  the  stranger 
half  dragged,  half  carried  her  to  the  entrance  of  the 
tent.  There  he  tenderly  supported  the  frightened 
girl,  but  still  held  the  arm  she  had  extended  to  him 
with  unrelaxing  firmness ;  while  his  eyes  wandered 
from  her  face  to  the  golden  bracelet  which  her 
nurse  had  clasped.  The  peasantry  were  perfectly 


1 88  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

unable  to  comprehend  the  matter.  Kelly  descended 
from  his  throne ;  and  Nelly  Clarey  looked  quite 
thunderstruck.  She  was,  however,  the  first  to  re- 
cover her  surprise. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  glowering  that  way  on 
my  child  ? " 

"  Your  child,  woman !  Herriott,  you  said  she 
was  not  hers  ;  you  said  you  could  not  say  who  she 
was.  Speak,  I  entreat,  for  mercy  speak,  and  tell 
me  how  that  bracelet  came — who  gave  it  her  ?  " 

"  Nobody  gave  it  her,"  replied  Nelly,  "  I  myself 
took  it  off  her  mother's  arm — God  rest  her  soul ! — 
the  very  morning  that  Jack  Connor  and  I  picked 
thim  both  out  of  the  salt  shrouds.  The  waves  were 
her  early  cradle,  poor  thing  ! " 

"  How  long  since  ?  " 

"  Oh,  for  the  matter  o'  that,  it  will  be  fifteen 
years,  come  next  Candlemas." 

The  strange  gentleman  let  the  braceleted  wrist 
drop,  and  folded  the  trembling  May  to  his  bosom. 

"  She  is  my  sister's  child,"  said  he,  when  he  could 
speak,  "  and  henceforth  mine." 

Mr.  Herriott  suggested  the  propriety  of  their 
going  into  the  lodge.  Poor  Nelly  followed  the 
gentry,  keeping  close  to  her  adopted,  muttering, 
"  I  have  lost  her  now,  anyhow."  The  rings  and  the 
chains  were  produced;  but  the  strongest  witness 
was  the  bracelet.  M.  A.  Y.  were  the  united  initials 
of  May's  father  and  mother ;  and  a  spring,  under 
the  clasp,  which  had  escaped  observation,  discovered 
a  miniature  of  Mr.  Monnett  (the  strange  gentleman) 


KELLY  THE   PIPER  189 

which  he  had  himself  given  to  his  beloved  sister  as 
a  token  of  affection  on  her  leaving  Calcutta. 

"  So  ye're  a  lady  after  all,  by  fortune  as  well  as 
birth,"  said  Nelly,  looking  affectionately  at  May, 
"  and  I  must  call  ye  Miss.  And  ye'll  be  no  more 
near  me ;  and  no  more  shall  I  hear  yer  sweet  voice 
in  the  soft  summer  evenings,  calling  to  me  from 
the  wood,  or  reading  to  me  whin  the  snow  hangs 
the  trees  with  white,  like  cherry  blossoms ;  and  the 
place  will  miss  ye ;  and  I  shall  be  left  desolate  in 
my  old  age.  But  ye'll  think  of  me — think  of  yer 
poor  nurse,  Nelly,  who,  on  her  bare  knees  " — and 
as  she  knelt  she  extended  her  clasped  hands  to 
heaven — "  prays  that  the  tears  o'  sorrow  may  niver 
dim  yer  eye ;  that  the  blush  o'  shame  may  niver 
paint  yer  cheek;  that  the  blessings  of  the  poor 
may  strew  the  sweetest  summer  flowers  in  yer  path ; 
and  that  a  long  life  and  a  happy  death  may  be  yer 
blessing;  and  after,"  continued  she  solemnly,  "in 
heaven — in  the  presence  of  the  Father  and  His  holy 
saints — may  the  poor  Bannow  woman  see  ye  a  bright 
angel  of  glory  ! " 

May  flung  herself  on  her  nurse's  bosom ;  and 
Mr.  Monnett  assured  them  he  hoped  they  would 
never  separate  :  "  For  I  think,  Nelly,"  said  he,  "  May 
looks  so  delicate  that  she  will  need  your  kind  care 
wherever  she  goes ;  and  she  would  be  unworthy  of 
my  affection  if  she  wished  to  leave  you."  Con- 
sequently, there  was  not  a  single  sorrowful  heart 
among  the  population,  rich  and  poor,  of  "  the 
united  parishes  of  Bannow  and  Kilkaven." 


IQO  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  Anybody  might  see/'  exclaimed  Kelly,  half  an 
hour  afterwards,  when  May  appeared  at  the  gate,  for 
a  moment,  to  receive  the  congratulations  of  her 
former  companions,  leaning  on  the  one  side  on  her 
uncle,  and  on  the  other  on  her  nurse — "  anybody 
might  see  that  she  had  always  the  jintle  drop  in 
her;  and  I  tould  you  so,  Miss  Jinny,  my  lady," 
continued  he,  sneeringly,  to  Jane  Roche,  who  had 
always  treated  poor  May  with  contempt,  and  looked 
somewhat  disconcerted  at  her  sudden  elevation. 
"  Fine  feathers  don't  always  make  fine  birds."  Miss 
Jenny,  however,  had  one  consolation :  hereafter,  a 
powerful  rival  would  be  removed  out  of  the  way. 

"Kelly,"  said  Mr.  Herriott,  "but  for  you  this 
discovery  would  not  have  been  made;  for  there 
would  have  been  no  pattern.  Therefore,  my  boys, 
crown  him  king  of  pipers,  patterns,  and  whisky ;  and 
plenty  of  that,  and  good  Irish  roast  beef,  shall  you 
have,  and  a  glorious  supper  outside  these  gates: 
peace,  plenty,  and  whisky  !  " 

"  King  Kelly  for  ever,  and  long  life  to  the  May ! " 
cried  Mickey  the  tailor ;  and  they  chaired,  or  rather 
shouldered,  Kelly  round  the  green,  and  poured  a 
noggin  of  pure  whisky  over  his  head,  which  made  him 
as  good  a  king  as  the  best  of  them  (they  said) ;  and 
the  Piper  composed  a  jig,  extempore,  that  beat  jig 
Polthouge,  and  all  the  jigs  ever  made  before  or 
since,  clean  out  of  the  field,  and  called  it  the  "  Lady 
May." 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  IRISH  PRIDE 

It  is  lucky  for  me  that  I  was  not  born  of  the 
sex  which  is  acknowledged  as  pre-eminent  in  the 
creation.  Had  I  been  one  of  the  dignitaries  of 
human  nature,  I  should  not  have  dared  to  hazard 
an  opinion  upon  Irish  pride,  unless,  indeed,  I  was 
tired  of  existence,  and  willing  to  submit  myself 
to  the  laws  of  honour:  so  that  my  life  might  be 
"  satisfactorily  "  disposed  of — a  sacrifice  to  appease 
the  exceeding  wrath  which  the  bare  mention  of 
such  a  subject  is  likely  to  excite  amongst  my 
countrymen.  I  have  angered  them  a  little,  now 
and  then,  by  telling  simple  truths,  without  refer- 
ence to  party,  which,  I  am  happy  to  have  an 
opportunity  of  repeating,  I  totally  disclaim.  An 
Irishman  will  forgive  you  for  reasoning  with  him, 
provided  it  is  not  after  dinner ;  but  I  doubt  if  his 
philosophy  will  extend  so  far  as  to  forgive  even  a 
lady  for  laughing-  at  him.  When  I  call  to  mind 
the  difficulties  and  absurdities  into  which  pride  has 
drawn  my  countryfolk,  I  do  not  know  whether  I 
ought  not  to  weep  instead  of  laugh.  The  tear  and 
the  smile,  as  regards  Ireland,  seem  really  twin-born  : 
the  one  invariably  accompanies  the  other.  Like 


192  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

its  native  music,  the  feeling  it  excites  is  of  mingled 
joy  and  gloom — 

' '  Erin  !  the  smile  and  the  tear  in  thine  eye, 
Blend  like  the  rainbow  that  hangs  in  the  sky." 

Pride  has  always  appeared  to  me  to  flow  through 
Irish  veins  (without  any  reference  to  the  situation 
of  the  individual)  as  naturally  as  the  blood  itself. 
In  England  there  are  distinctions  in  pride — the 
aristocracy  are  proud  of  their  birth,  the  citizens  of 
their  wealth,  the  artisans  of  their  trade.  But  in 
Ireland  pride  has  but  one  boast,  commencing  with 
"  illustrious  descent,"  and  ending  in  "  dacent  people." 
Honesty,  sobriety,  industry,  independence  are  all 
as  dust  in  the  balance  in  comparison  with  this 
destructive  pride  ;  and  a  "  born  gentleman,"  though 
the  youngest  son  of  a  youngest  son,  without  a 
single  sou,  even  now,  would  blush  at  connecting 
himself  with  commerce. 

I  remember  being  greatly  amused  by  a  country 
glover  once  saying  to  me,  in  reply  to  a  compliment 
conferred  upon  his  skilful  workmanship,  while 
national  energy  danced  merrily  in  his  eyes,  "  It 
isn't  the  sewing  with  which  I  stitches  together  the 
skins  of  the  poor  dumb  bastes  that  I  prides  my- 
self on.  No,  no ;  I've  something,  God  be  praised  ! 
better  nor  that  to  look  up  to,  poor  as  I  am  :  the  blood 
of  the  O'Neils  goes  fair  and  softly  through  every 
vein  in  my  body." 

"  Indeed !  "  I  replied.  "  Then  how  came  you  to 
be  a  glover  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  ma'am,  misfortunes '11  come  upon 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF   IRISH   PRIDE  193 

the  best  of  us.  My  father  (God  be  good  to  him  !  ) 
wouldn't  demane  himself  with  trade,  but  died  dacent : 
for  though  he  had  nothing  to  live  upon,  he  left 
enough  to  bury  him,  and  what's  more,  he  left  me 
a  copy  of  the  coat  of  arms  of  the  O'Niels,  which 
James  Mulvany  painted  for  him  long  ever  ago,  on 
the  back  of  his  own  door.  And  when  my  mother 
(she  was  from  the  north)  put  it  to  me  how  her 
father's  brother  would  give  me  a  trade,  why,  I 
looked,  you  know,  to  the  credit  of  my  people,  and 
tould  her  '  No.'  '  And  then  ? '  says  she  (she  was  a 
knowing  woman),  '  hould  up  your  head,  my  boy,' 
she  says ;  '  what  would  hinder  you  from  taking  up 
with  the  sign  of  your  family  for  a  trade ' — and  she 
turned  round  the  room  door,  and  sure  enough  there 
were  two  lions  painted,  forenent  each  other — a  fish 
at  the  bottom,  and  above  the  fish  an  open  glove. 
1  The  fish,  if  it  has  any  sense  in  it,'  says  she, '  means 
fishermen — and  the  glove,  what  can  it  mean  ?  Sure, 
if  there  wasn't  glovers,  there'd  be  no  gloves.'  '  My 
uncle's  a  glover,  Ben,'  says  she,  '  and  a  glove's  the 
sign  of  the  family ;  so  be  a  glover,  like  a  good  boy ; 
and  believe  your  mother  when  she  tells  you  that  to 
take  their  sign  for  a  business  can't  be  no  disgrace : 
sure  it's  the  only  trade  in  the  world  I'd  wish  to  see 
you  turn  to.'  So  you  mind,  ma'am,  it's  on  account 
of  my  family  I'm  pleased,  not  on  account  of  the 
praise  the  ladies  (God  bless  'em)  gives  to  the  gloves.' 
Poor  Ben  !  His  mother,  I  suspect,  had  the  sense 
of  the  family.  Perhaps  all  my  English  readers  do 
not  know  that  the  north  of  Ireland  is  a  trading, 


194  IRJSH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

and  consequently  a  prosperous,  part  of  the  country ; 
but  it  is  curious  to  observe  the  contempt  with  which 
the  inhabitants  of  the  other  districts  generally  treat 
their  commercial  neighbours.  How  ridiculous  it 
would  appear  to  us  in  England  to  hear  a  trades- 
man expatiating  on  his  connection  with  the  aristoc- 
racy, in  any  other  way  than  in  the  way  of  business  ! 
If  this  pride  of  family  elevated  the  minds  of  its 
possessors ;  if  it  led  them  to  that  sort  of  exertion 
which  produces  independence ;  if  it  made  them 
incapable  of  a  careless  or  dishonest  action — then 
perhaps  I  would  call  it  a  pardonable  failing — a 
weakness,  which  ought  to  be  forgiven  for  the  fruit's 
sake.  The  pride  of  ancestry  may  deserve  to  be 
considered  a  noble  pride  when  it  stimulates  to 
exertion  and  animates  to  virtue.  But  unhappily, 
in  Ireland  it  rises  trumpet-tongued  against  every 
species  of  employment  derogatory  to  the  memories 
of  the  O'Connors,  O'Rourkes,  MacMurraghs,  Mac- 
Carthys,  O'Briens,  or  O'Tooles — nay,  persons  who 
have  no  earthly  connection  with  those  illustrious 
departed  make  for  themselves  a  spurious  dacency, 
as  they  call  it,  which  is  provoking  from  its  very 
absurdity. 

A  friend  of  mine  had  some  time  ago  an  English 
housemaid  and  an  Irish  cook,  both  young  women. 
The  English  girl  was  the  very  model  of  what  an 
English  servant  ought  to  be :  neat,  cheerful,  orderly, 
clean,  good-tempered,  thoughtful,  and  attentive.  It 
was  pleasant  to  meet  her  on  the  stairs  with  her  snowy 


ILLUSTRATIONS   OF   IRISH    PRIDE  195 

duster,  her  broad  sweeping-brush  that  looked  as  new 
as  if  it  had  never  disturbed  a  spider;  her  bright  tin 
dust-pan,  her  fair  shining  hair,  braided  across  her 
forehead  to  hide  the  curl-papers  which  were  destined 
to  confine  her  tresses  till  the  evening,  her  sliding 
curtsey  as  she  poised  herself  on  one  foot  that  you 
might  pass  with  ease,  the  graceful  manner  in  which 
she  balanced  her  brush  and  held  her  dust-pan,  her 
sweet  smile  that  seemed  to  say, "  What  can  I  do  to 
please  you,  lady  ? "  were  delightful ;  and  yet  shelooked 
so  in  keeping  with  her  occupation  that  in  nothing 
would  her  mistress  have  had  Lucy  Bramer  altered. 
Betsey  French  was  most  amusingly  her  opposite. 
Lucy  was  pretty  and  petite ;  Betsey  was  handsome, 
and  of  Patagonian  proportions.  Lucy's  voice  was 
soft  and  stealing ;  Betsey's  tones  were  broad  and 
shrill.  Lucy's  hair  was  golden — not  red,  but  golden ; 
Betsey's  was  black  as  the  raven's  wing.  Betsey's 
mirth  was  boisterous;  she  was  in  and  out  of  a  passion 
at  least  ten  times  a  day ;  her  attentions  bordered 
upon  freedom ;  she  had  abundant  talents,  but  no 
tact ;  she  was  a  superior  cook,  yet  her  dinners  never 
seemed  well  set  upon  the  dishes — the  joints  were 
invariably  put  the  wrong  way,  and  the  gravies,  soups, 
and  jellies  overflowing.  No  two  servants  could  be 
more  different,  although  they  were  attached  to  each 
other.  Lucy  was  as  neat  in  her  person  in  the  morn- 
ing as  in  the  afternoon ;  but  Betsey's  shoes  were 
down  at  heel,  her  kerchief  off  one  shoulder  and 
dragged  on  the  other,  and  her  apron  stringless, 
until  past  six :  then,  indeed,  she  made  her  appear- 


ig6  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

ance  like  a  full-blown  peony — red  ribands  in  her 
cap,  and  a  bright  green  gown,  with  sundry  flounces 
garnishing  the  skirt. 

I  never  could  make  out  exactly  how  it  was,  but 
pretty  Lucy  Bramer — the  modest,  down-eyed  Lucy 
— had  a  lover — an  absolute  lover  of  flesh  and  blood 
— a  living  lover,  in  the  person  of  a  handsome'coach- 
man,  who  had  evidently  won  Lucy's  heart  by  a 
flourish  of  his  whip,  and  rode  post  through  it  after 
paying  as  toll  the  affections  of  his  own.  The 
wedding-day  was  fixed.  Lucy  was  sitting  at  the 
long  kitchen  table,  cutting  and  snipping  a  certain 
quantity  of  white  satin  ribbon,  when  Betsey,  who 
had  been  polishing  the  outside  of  a  tin  kettle  (the 
generality  of  Irish  servants — ay,  and  many  English 
ones  too — do  not  trouble  themselves  about  the  in- 
side}, said,  "  Why  then,  Lucy,  honey,  is  the  licence 
bought  yet  ?  " 

"  The  what  ?  "  in  her  turn  inquired  Lucy. 

"  The  licence,  to  be  sure,"  repeated  Betsey. 

"  Why,  Betsey,  you  do  not  suppose  Edmund  is 
going  to  be  such  a  fool  as  to  throw  away  his  money 
on  a  licence^  Of  course  we  shall  be  married  by 
banns — we  have  been  out-asked  twice." 

Betsey  laid  the  bit  of  black  leather  on  one  side, 
and  the  bit  of  what  she  called  "  whitening  "  on  the 
other  side  of  the  tin  kettle,  and  clapping  her  hands 
together,  "to  bang  the  dirt  out  of  them,"  looked 
steadily  in  Mary's  face. 

"Didn't  you  tell  me  that  both  Edmund  and 
yourself  had  saved  a  big  trifle  of  money,  enough  to 


ILLUSTRATIONS   OF   IRISH   PRIDE  197 

furnish  two  rooms  and  keep  you  from  eating 
herrings'  tails  for  many  a  day  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Lucy ;  "  but  what  has  that  to  do 
with  the  licence  ?  " 

"  And  a  dacent  girl  like  yourself  tells  me  you're 
not  to  have  a  licence  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure — do  you  not  think  we  shall  find  other 
employment  for  our  money?" 

"  And  you  mean  that  one  wedding  to  last  you 
your  life  ? " 

"  Please  God  ! "  replied  the  pretty  housemaid. 

"  Yet  you'll  have  no  licence,  but  be  married  by 
beggarly  banns  !  Well,  the  back  of  my  hand  to  you, 
England,  afther  that ! — a  dacent  girl  like  Lucy 
Bramer  to  put  up  with  banns  !  Well,  afther  that ! 
Sure  it's  wonderful  you  don't  seek  out  a  couple- 
beggar,  and  get  married  like  the  heathens  in  the 
time  of  Nebecudnazar !  No  licence  !  and  enough 
money  stowed  by,  in  the  savings-bank,  to  furnish 
two  rooms  ! — And  to  put  up  with  banns  !  as  if  you 
hadn'ta  teaster  "(sixpence) "  nor  a  groat  in  the  world ! 
Well,  thank  God,  I've  a  pride  above  that.  If  I  was 
going  to  be  married,  every  rag  of  clothes  I  have 
should  go,  or  I'd  be  married  dacent !" 

"That  would  not  be  the  way  to  be  decently 
married,"  said  Lucy  quietly,  "  to  have  no  clothes  to 
be  married  in." 

"  Oh,  the  meanness  of  them  English,"  persisted 
Betsey,  "  to  think  that  even  for  onct  in  their  lives 
the  spirit  can't  get  into  them ! — the  tame  negurs  ! 
O  Lucy  !  and  to  think  about  furnishing  !  Why,  in 


Ip8  IRISH    LIFE   AND   CHARACTER 

Ireland  we  give  all  honour  and  glory  to  the  wed- 
ding and  the  priest,  and  think  as  it  is  but  to  be 
done  onct,  it  ought  to  be  done  dacent.  Oh,  what 
signifies  the  hardship  afther,  if  you  have  showed 
that  the  good  drop  stops  with  the  family  !  " 

Lucy  looked  perplexed. 

"If  you  show  that  it  isn't  the  money  you  care 
for,  "  persisted  Betsey 

"But  I  do  care  for  the  money,"  replied  the  ex- 
pectant bride ;  "  I  worked  hard  for  it,  and  I  assure 
you,  Betsey,  I  have  as  great  a  desire  to  be  '  decent ' 
as  you — only  I  think  our  ideas  of  what  decency  is 
differ.  Who  knows  when  I  go  in  or  come  out  of 
church  whether  I  have  been  married  by  banns  or 
licence  ? — or  if  they  did,  what  does  it  signify  ? " 

"  I'm  ashamed  of  you,  Lucy  Bramer,  that's  what 
I  am  ! "  exclaimed  Betsey,  more  enraged  than  ever ; 
"  and  I  tell  you  what,  you  have  no  regard  for  your 
family." 

"  Indeed  but  I  have ;  I  supported  my  dear  mother 
till  her  death,  and  never  would  have  married  had  she 
lived." 

"  I  know  you  have  z  good  heart  towards  everyone 
belonging  to  you,"  replied  Betsey,  moved,  for  tears 
had  risen  to  Lucy's  eyes ;  "  but  I  mean  you  have  no 
regard  for  the  pride  of  your  family." 

"  My  father  was  only  a  tailor,"  replied  Lucy 
meekly ;  "so  I  have  only  the  honest  name  he  left 
me  to  be  proud  of,  and  being  married  by  licence 
would  not  support  that !  " 

Betsey  gave  Lucy  two  looks  of  contempt,  which 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF   IRISH   PRIDE  199 

she  did  not  see,  for  she  had  been  shaping  the  end 
of  the  riband  into  a  heart :  one  disparaging  look 
was  for  the  tailor,  another  for  Lucy's  mean  spirit. 
She  paused  a  moment,  and  then,  tossing  her  head 
as  if  it  had  been  already  crowned  with  the  crimson 
ribands,  said,  "  Well,  Lucy,  you  must  excuse  my 
being  bride's-maid,  that's  all ;  for,  though  other 
people  hav'n't  no  fathers,  nor  people  of  their  own, 
I'm  not  so,  thank  God ;  and  I'll  never  be  tail  to  a 
wedding  that  hasn't  got  a  licence  !  " 

"If  your  honour  plases,"  said  a  poor  woman, 
whose  plebeian  name  of  Oran  had  nothing  illustrious 
in  its  sound  or  connection,  "  my  daughter  wouldn't 
mind  taking  a  sarvice  in  England,  though  she  would 
not  like  to  do  it  here,  because  of  her  people? 

"  Well,  if  her  people  "  (relations)  "  do  not  like  her 
to  go  to  service,  let  them  support  her ;  or,  at  all 
events,  give  her  a  sufficient  quantity  of  clothes  to 
shield  her  from  the  inclemency  of  the  weather." 

"  Oh,  your  honour,  sure  as  to  the  bit  and  the 
sup,  me  and  mine  could  have  it  from  them  for  ever  ! 
But  where  would  they  have  clothes  for  all  belonging 
to  them  ?  Where  would  they  get  them  ?  " 

"  Then  why  not  send  her  where  she  could  earn 
them  ?  There  are  plenty  of  farmers,  respectable 
farmers,  who  would  be  pleased  to  take  your  daughter 
into  their  service." 

"  But,  don't  you  see,  her  people  ?  Sure  they'd  look 
down  upon  her — all  dacent,  keeping  their  bits  of 
walls  over  their  heads,  and  their  own  cow  and  pig, 


200  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

and  the  likes  of  that ;  not  one  of  their  breed  at 
sarvice.  But  she  has  a  turn  that  way,  and  if  she 
was  out  of  the  country,  why  then,  nobody  would 
know  it" 

Here  was  a  woman — a  widow  with  five  children, 
living  almost  on  charity,  and  yet  indisposed  to  send 
her  daughter — a  nice-looking,  cheerful,  healthy,  and, 
I  do  believe,  industrious  girl — to  service,  because  her 
relations  were  what  in  Ireland  are  called  "small 
farmers."  This  is  but  one  instance  out  of  twenty 
that  came  under  my  own  observation,  not  six 
months  ago,  of  a  similar  indispositionio  exertion,  not 
from  idleness,  but  from  a  dislike  to  what,  in  their 
opinion,  would  lower  "  their  family  pride."  The 
results  of  this  failing  are,  as  I  have  observed,  some- 
times of  a  laughable  but  more  frequently  of  a 
melancholy  nature.  I  could  not  look  round  upon 
the  domestic  circle  of  some  whom  I  both  love  and 
respect  without  feeling  my  heart  sink  at  the  gloomy 
prospect  of  griefs,  troubles,  and  privations  which 
I  know  future  years  must  bring  to  many  a  bright 
eye  and  many  a  blushing  cheek  among  them. 

A  family  of  six,  eight,  or  ten  young  people, 
brought  up  in  the  careless  and  rude  plenty  of 
Irish  hospitality ;  beloved  by  their  parents,  in- 
dulged, as  children  of  abundance  invariably  are; 
never  thinking  of  the  future ;  the  naturally  fine 
capabilities  of  the  females  cultivated  to  the  point 
that  is  conceived  necessary  as  most  attractive — 
knowing  a  little  of  everything,  but  nothing  well. 
The  girls  kind,  affectionate,  good-natured,  to  an 


ILLUSTRATIONS   OF  IRISH   PRIDE  2OI 

extent  never  met  with  in  an  English  family ;  but 
thoughtless,  untidy,  and  extravagant  to  a  degree 
equally  unknown  in  this  well-regulated  country. 
The  sons,  growing  up — most  wonderful  politicians ! 
— exulting  either  in  the  full-blown  honours  of  the 
Orange,  or  elevating  the  cap  of  liberty,  with  its 
shamrock  garland,  upon  the  longest  rifle  in  the 
land  ;  ready  to  cut  each  others'  throats  for  the 
sake  of  party  or  of  pride,  but  not  at  all  prepared 
to  make  any  personal  sacrifice  for  the  good  of  their 
common  country ! — the  most  party-loving,  but  the 
most  unpatriotic  youths  on  earth :  they  fish,  and 
shoot,  and  lounge ;  and  (barring  the  politics) 
are  the  most  obliging,  attentive,  and,  generally 
speaking,  well-informed  fellows  in  the  world ! 
Yet,  what  are  their  prospects  ?  The  father  of  the 
family  possesses,  probably,  a  limited,  certainly  an 
embarrassed,  income,  which,  perhaps,  living  in 
Ireland,  he  can  neither  extricate  nor  increase. 
Perhaps,  also,  one  or  two  of  his  daughters  marry ; 
the  rest  live  at  home,  adding  to  their  father's 
embarrassments,  or  spend  six  months  here,  six 
months  there,  amongst  their  friends — indulging  in 
a  species  of  decent  beggary,  which  the  proud  in  Ire- 
land do  not  disdain. 

In  England,  under  such  circumstances,  those 
young  ladies  would  have  depended,  after  a  certain 
age,  on  their  own  resources.  If  their  father  was 
rich,  and  their  allotted  fortunes  ready,  they  would 
remain  together ;  but,  if  he  was  embarrassed ! — 
thank  God ! — an  Englishwoman's  pride  is  in  the 


2O2  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

discharge  of  her  duty !  She  might  feel  sorry  for 
the  necessity  which  rendered  it  incumbent  on  her 
to  procure  employment  for  the  talents  with  which 
she  had  hoped  to  enliven  her  beloved  home ;  but 
this  sorrow  would  only  stimulate  her  to  exertion  : 
nor  would  she  lose  caste  by  such  conduct ;  on  the 
contrary,  she  would  be  the  more  respected. 

As  to  the  sons !  But  a  short  dialogue  between 
an  English  and  an  Irish  gentleman  will  at  once 
illustrate  my  meaning. 

"  Your  eldest  son,  of  course,  will  succeed  to  the 
estate  ;  but  I  wonder  you  did  not  think  of  some 
profession  for  him.  Our  properties  are  of  the  same 
amount,  and  we  have  the  same  number  of  children  ; 
but  my  eldest  son  has  just  entered  the  Middle 
Temple." 

"  Ah !  Charles  has  left  college,  and  none  of  the 
elder  sons  of  my  family  have  ever  had  a  pro- 
fession." 

"  What  will  you  do  with  Alfred  ? " 

"  Why,  Alfred  was  intended  for  the  army,  but 
at  present  it  is  absolute  madness  to  think  of  it ; 
so  poor  Alfred  is  obliged  to  wait  at  home  for  a 
war." 

The  English  gentleman  did  not  see  the  necessity 
of  Alfred's  waiting  at  home,  on  the  chance  of  a 
disagreement  with  our  foreign  allies ;  but  he  did 
not  care  to  say  so,  and  inquired  what  was  to  be 
done  with  Robert. 

"  Oh,  Robert  is  so  steady,  so  very  steady,  in  fact, 
that  we  always  designed  him  for  the  Church.  He 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF   IRISH   PRIDE  2O3 

passed  through  college  with  great  eclat,  and  is  now 
only  waiting  for  a  title  to  orders." 

"  But,  my  dear  friend,  could  not  Robert  take 
pupils  ? — Many  young  gentlemen  in  England,  and 
some  here,  I  am  happy  to  observe,  are  able  to  sup- 
port themselves  by  such  praiseworthy  exertions." 

The  colour  mounted  to  the  old  gentleman's 
temples,  while  he  replied,  "  Yes,  but  Mrs.  Blake's 
connections  are  even  more  high  than  mine. 
Robert  did  wish  to  do  something  of  the  kind,  but 
his  mother — you  know  it  is  a  national  feeling  that 
those  of  ancient  family  do  not  exactly  like  to  enter 
into  that  species  of  occupation  which  would  create 
a  coolness  between  them  and  their  powerful  re- 
lations ;  and  Mrs.  Blake's  second  cousin  is  Bishop 

of .  When  he  provides  for  one  or  two  more 

immediate  connections,  I  make  no  doubt  he  will 
think  of  Robert ! " 

So  upon  the  chance  of  the  bishop's  thinking  of 
him,  Master  Robert  was  to  exist ! 

"  But  there  is  another,  a  singularly  fine  boy," 
persisted  the  English  gentleman — "  almost  a  young 
man — what  is  he  intended  for  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Edward ! — Edward  is  the  youngest,  and 
was  always  passionately  attached  to  the  sea. 
Mrs.  Blake's  brother  died  an  admiral ;  and  Edward, 
when  a  tiny  fellow,  used  to  say  he  would  be  an 
admiral  also.  But  Mrs.  Blake  did  not  like  the  idea 
of  her  pet  boy  roughing  it  amongst  the  midshipmen 
of  a  ship,  to  which  he  might  have  been  appointed, 
because  there  were  one  or  two  youths  on  board, 


2O4  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

lads  of  such  exceptionable  characters  as  to  descent, 
that  she  dreaded  his  making  low  connections.  The 
time  passed  on,  and  he  is  now  too  old,  and  the 
power  of  the  old  families  is  decaying  fast;  and 
unless  he  entered  the  merchant  service  (which 
would  break  his  mother's  heart),  I  really  do  not 
see  what  we  shall  do  with  him ;  for  his  heart  is  on 
the  waves — he  is  everlastingly  boating,  and  is  be- 
loved by  the  whole  country." 

And  so  he  was,  poor  fellow !  he  was  so  hand- 
some, so  generous,  so  affectionate.  But  they  may 
mourn  him  now,  for  he  is  dead  ! — drowned ! — 
nobody  knows  how — in  the  clear  sunny  lake  of 
his  father's  wild  and  beautiful  park.  He  who 
might  have  revived  the  declining  honours  of  his 
house — a  noble,  brave  boy — his  restless  and  im- 
patient spirit  struggled  between  obedience  to  the 
pride  and  folly  of  his  mother,  and  that  eager 
longing  after  activity  and  distinction  which  spurs 
our  natures  on  to  immortality.  Poor  Edward 
Blake  !  I  never  hear  "  the  blood  of  the  Blakes  " 
boasted  of,  without  thinking  of  the  pure  rich  cur- 
rent which  perished  in  his  veins ! 

It  is  much  easier  to  perceive  a  fault  than  to 
suggest  its  remedy.  The  extravagant  pride  which 
flourished  in  Ireland  some  forty  years  ago,  with 
a  luxuriance  it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  now, 
has  been  very  much  shorn  of  its  proportions ;  time 
and  circumstances  have  in  some  degree  destroyed 
it.  A  more  extended  knowledge  of  the  world  in 
general,  and  the  English  world  in  particular,  has 


ILLUSTRATIONS   OF   IRISH   PRIDE  2O$ 

made  its  way  into  the  wilds  of  Kerry  and  the  fast- 
nesses of  Connemara.  Many  have  been  brought 
to  see  the  absurdity  of  such  extravagant  pride, 
and  its  unfitness  for  the  present  state  of  things ; 
others,  whose  forefathers  possessed  the  land  for 
centuries,  have  been  swept,  as  by  a  pestilence, 
from  the  country.  I  have  listened  for  names 
which  my  mother  has  said  were  familiar  to  her  as 
household  words,  but  they  were  nowhere  spoken  : 
the  old  men  of  whom  I  heard  so  frequently,  died 
proudly  and  silently  within  the  crumbling  halls  or 
castles  of  their  ancestors ;  their  graves  had  been 
closed  by  grey-headed  and  humble  friends,  who 
considered  service  rendered  to  "  an  ould  ancient 
family"  as  sacred  and  obligatory  as  a  religious 
duty;  and  if  they  left  children,  they  are  only  to 
be  found  amongst  the  troops,  or  in  the  forests  of 
foreign  lands. 

I  noted  these  things,  and  I  found  how  bitterly 
pride  had  cursed  my  native  country.  There  are 
other  curses,  dark  and  heavy,  resting  on  its  devoted 
head ;  but  surely  the  principle  which  cramps  exer- 
tion must  be  one  of  the  most  dangerous  for  a  land, 
united  as  Ireland  is  to  another,  where  enterprise 
and  energy  turn  what  they  touch  into  gold. 

The  contrast  between  the  two  islands  is  humili- 
ating ;  yet  the  casual  traveller  sees  little  of  it.  The 
genuine  hospitality  of  the  inhabitants — the  un- 
happy talent  they  possess  for  keeping  up  appear- 
ances— their  gay  and  cheerful  manners — are  all 
calculated  to  mislead  those  who  have  not  resided 


206  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

amongst  them.  The  feeling  extends  from  the 
lady  of  the  house  to  the  slattern  in  the  kitchen — 
everything  puts  on  its  finery  for  the  credit  of  the 
family.  No  matter  how  great  is  the  extent  of  pecu- 
niary embarrassment,  nor  how  increased,  as  long  as 
it  is  to  be  had  they  will  have  it,  careless  of  the  ruin 
that  must  follow. 

"  What  will  I  do  intirely,"  said  an  old  butler  in 
an  old  family,  which  has  now  no  representative,  for 
the  only  heir  was  killed  in  a  duel  about  fifteen 
years  ago  (I  have  heard  that  the  quarrel  originated 
as  to  the  spelling  of  a  name !),  "  what  will  I  do  ? 
Quality  coming  down  from  Dublin,  and  not  a  coat 
to  my  back  ! " 

"  I'd  buy  a  coat  out  of  my  own  wages  rather 
than  wear  that,"  replied  the  footman  of  a  neigh- 
bouring house,  where  the  management  was  better. 

"  I'd  do  that  same  if  I  had  my  wages,"  replied 
the  old  man ;  "  but  I've  not  seen  cross  or  coin  of 
them  these  three  years." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  ask  for  them,  or  leave  ? " 
inquired  the  other. 

"  Where's  the  good  of  my  asking  when  I  know 
it's  not  in  it,"  replied  the  affectionate  creature; 
"  and  as  to  leaving !  you  know  nothing  about  it. 
Who'd  stand  up  for  the  credit  of  the  family  if  I 
was  to  leave?  I  that  have  been  with  them  so 
long,  and  my  father  before  me.  No ;  I've  been 
thinking  I'd  borrow  a  coat  for  the  time  the  quality 
stays.  There's  ne'er  a  man  on  the  townland  would 
refuse  me  the  loan  of  one  for  his  honours  credit'' 


ILLUSTRATIONS   OF   IRISH   PRIDE  2O7 

But  the  respectful  and  attached  feeling  with 
which  the  poor  Irish  regarded  their  superiors  is 
fast  declining.  They  used  to  be  proud,  like  the 
old  butler,  "  for  his  honour's  credit " ;  now  they 
take  out  a  patent  for  pride  on  their  own  account 
— the  pride  is  not  decreased,  but  its  object  is 
changed. 

I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  that  I  could  perceive 
in  the  lower  classes  of  the  Irish  that  spirit  of  in- 
dependence which  renders  our  English  peasants  of 
such  blunt,  stern  honesty.  Here,  the  landlord  is 
civil  to  his  tenant — there,  the  tenant  used  to  be 
servile  to  his  landlord ;  and  still,  though  he  may 
burn  his  house  or  cut  his  throat  secretly,  to  mark 
his  displeasure  of  his  conduct,  yet  he  bears  himself 
when  in  the  presence  of  his  superiors  more  with 
the  air  of  a  serf  than  a  free  man.  Despite  this 
serf-like  manner,  pride  rankles  in  the  peasant's 
heart  and  stirs  their  blood — if  the  passion  be  not 
exercised  for  his  master,  it  will  be  exercised 
against  him.1 

The   union  of  pride  and   poverty  is,  I  believe 

1  When — Murphy,  I  think,  was  his  name — the  misguided  man 
who  murdered  Mr.  Foote  near  New  Ross,  in  the  county  of 
Wexford,  was  hung,  his  father,  an  aged  person,  was  present  at 
the  execution.  The  wretched  father  never  attempted  to  deny  his 
son's  guilt — never  thought  it  worth  denying.  The  murderer  had 
established  a  pride  and  a  will  of  his  own,  and  Mr.  Foote's  plans 
interfered  with  them — the  result  is  but  too  well  known.  No  tear 
dimmed  his  father's  eye,  nor  did  he,  I  was  informed,  utter  a  word 
until  the  body  ceased  to  move  ;  then,  turning  from  the  spectacle, 
he  exclaimed,  "To  think  of  my  losing  my  beautiful  boy  for  Ould 
Foote  !  "  What  pride  nestled  in  that  extraordinary  observation  ! 


208  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

suniversally  acknowledged.  The  first  endeavour 
to  shield  the  child  of  its  own  creating,  but  its 
shadow  is  as  the  shadow  of  the  poisonous  upas 
tree  :  the  shadow  lies  heavy  upon  my  poor  country. 

The  upper  classes,  from  the  Giant's  Causeway  to 
Cape  Clear,  will,  I  doubt  not,  in  a  few  years  see 
the  absurdity  of  this  passion ;  and  future  genera- 
tions may  testify  that  Irish  pride  differs  in  no 
respect  from  the  proper  dignity  which  calls  upon 
nations  and  individuals  to  respect  themselves. 

But  how  shall  we  take  from  the  lower  orders, 
whose  names  are  their  only  inheritance,  the  feeling 
that  they  are  degraded  by  the  occupations  which 
bring  prosperity  to  England  ?  How  teach  them 
to  feel  that  beggary  is  more  disgraceful  than 
servitude  ?  Would  a  judiciously  arranged  code  of 
poor  laws  effect  this,  as  well  as  other  desirable 
objects?  Certainly,  poor  laws,  administered  as 
they  are  in  England,  would  do  more  harm  than 
good  in  Ireland.  The  legislator  would  do  well  to 
take  into  his  consideration  the  great  difference 
that  exists  between  the  two  countries :  however 
displeasing  it  may  be  to  say  so,  I  have  no  hesi- 
tation in  affirming  that,  in  civilisation,  Ireland  is 
at  this  moment  a  century  behind  England.  In 
addition  to  its  poverty,  it  has  a  host  of  prejudices 
and  superstitions  to  overcome,  which  are  con- 
tinually drawing  it  back  from  improvement  and 
weighing  it  down  towards  destruction.  Its  children 
are  the  children  of  impulse :  a  single  idea  fixes 
itself  upon  their  imaginations,  and  from  that  they 


ILLUSTRATIONS   OF   IRISH   PRIDE  2OO. 

act.  Their  powers  of  comparison  are  weak,  because 
they  are  seldom  exercised.  If  the  laws  are  opposed 
to  their  prejudices,  they  rise  in  arms  against  them ; 
and  if  they  are  framed  altogether  in  accordance 
with  their  wishes,  they  will  be  anything  but  a 
national  benefit.  The  lower  orders  of  Irish  are 
a  difficult  class  of  persons  to  deal  with  :  those  who 
legislate  for  them  ought  to  be  well  acquainted 
with  their  modes,  their  moods,  their  peculiarities, 
their  virtues,  and  their  vices ;  and,  above  all, 
thoroughly  informed  as  to  their  religion,  as  it 
really  exists  at  this  moment.  I  do  not  mean  so 
much  in  theory  as  in  practice.  It  is  wretched  to 
think  of  the  misery  to  which  the  old  and  feeble 
among  the  poor  are  subjected ;  though  it  draws 
forth  the  virtues  of  the  youthful  and  the  in- 
dustrious. The  aged  are  burdensome  to  their 
children,  when  in  England  they  would  find  support 
from  the  parish  :  thus  a  day-labourer  frequently 
has  not  only  the  future,  but  the  past  generation 
to  support.  I  remember,  some  time  ago,  entering 
the  hovel  of  a  poor  man,  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Kilkenny.  It  was,  as  is  usual  in  that  district,  a 
most  miserable  dwelling :  the  thatch  overgrown 
with  moss  and  Scotch  grass;  there  was  not  so 
much  as  a  chair  to  sit  on ;  the  noonday  meal  of 
potatoes  was  thrown  from  the  iron  pot  into  a  kish, 
which  was  placed  upon  a  stool,  nearly  in  the 
centre  of  the  room ;  round  this  the  ragged  family 
crouched,  like  witches  round  a  cauldron.  There 
were  five  children.  The  father,  if  not  bowed  down 


210  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

by  labour  and  the  want  of  proper  nourishment, 
would  have  been  a  handsome,  fine-looking  man, 
not  more  than  eight  or  nine  and  twenty.  The 
wife  had  been  a  lovely  girl ;  but  she  married  him 
when  seventeen,  and  bestowed  five  blessings  on 
her  husband  in  six  years !  At  three-and-twenty 
the  blood  had  curdled  in  her  cheek,  and  her  blue 
eyes  were  bleared  from  smoke,  and  often  blinded 
by  tears  !  Yet  the  smile  was  fresh  and  friendly 
on  her  lips;  the  curtsey  and  the  "kindly  welcome" 
were  offered ;  the  children  huddled  away  in  a 
corner — and  then  it  was  that  the  elders  of  the 
family  became  visible.  In  addition  to  his  five 
little  ones,  this  poor  man  supported  his  wife's 
grandmother,  an  old  crone,  arrived  at  octogenarian 
dignity ;  and  his  own  father,  who  had  been  bed- 
ridden for  many  years — the  "  warm  corner "  was 
bestowed  on  the  crone,  and  the  straw  pallet  of  the 
more  afflicted  father  decently  covered  with  both  rug 
and  blanket. 

This  labourer's  wages,  one  month  with  another, 
was  tenpence  a  day  ! — Tenpence  a  day,  to  feed  and 
clothe  nine  people !  The  hovel  which  they  in- 
habited, and  a  few  perches  of  land,  were  rent-free. 
"  But  for  this,"  said  the  young  man,  "  we  could  not 
live  at  all !  The  woman  cuts  and  sets  the  pratees 
— the  children  are  too  soft  "  (young)  "  to  put  a  hand 
to  anything — barring  their  mouths — but  it's  God's 
will  to  lave  us  together !  " 

"  And  do  you  not  receive  some  assistance  towards 
the  support  of  these  old  people  ? " 


ILLUSTRATIONS   OF   IRISH   PRIDE  211 

"  Oh,  the  neighbours  are  mighty  kind  ;  but  sure 
they're  no  better  off  than  ourselves — they've  their 
own  ould  people  to  look  after ;  for  no  one  breathing 
could  cast  away  their  own  flesh  and  blood.  My 
father  and  her  granny  used  to  go  out  on  the 
shodiarawn  "  (begging)  "  until  they  got  a-past  mov- 
ing ;  and  the  quality  was  often  kind  to  them." 

The  withered  woman  raised  her  head  from  jthe 
shrivelled  bosom  on  which  it  had  sunk,  and  there 
was  a  passing  expression  in  her  eye,  lack-lustre 
though  it  was,  that  convinced  me  her  spirit  had 
never  been  of  gentle  mood. 

"  Kind  was  it  of  them  ?  "  she  repeated  in  a  voice 
of  feeble  treble.  "  Oh,  mighty  kind  to  be  sure ! 
But  tell  the  lady  that  Granny  Wade  was  no  beggar  \ 
she  only  asked  a  mite  from  such  as  have  all  now 
of  what  those  she  come  from  called  their  own,  and 
was  their  own,  long  ever  ago — it  wasn't  charity  she 
asked,  though  she  travelled  far  for  food  !  If  the  devil 
takes  from  God's  angels  what  God  gave  them,  isn't 
it  natural  for  them  to  try  for  it  ?  And " 

"  Whisht,  granny !  whisht !  "  exclaimed  her  grand- 
daughter. "  I  hope  you'll  excuse  her,  ma'am  dear ; 
she's  ould,  and  feeble  in  the  head,  and  says  things 
without  a  meaning.  The  pride,  ma'am,  is  strong  in 
her  to  the  last ;  and  I  can't  deny  that  some  of  '  her 
people,'  as  she  lets  on — long  ever  ago — were  the 
heart's  blood  of  the  gentry ;  only  I  suppose  times 
change,  and  Loch  Valley " 

"  Who  spakes  of  Loch  Valley  ?  "  interrupted  the 


212  IRISH   LIFE  AND   CHARACTER 

"  Whisht,  granny,  honey  !  whisht !  Here's  a  taste 
of  beautiful  tobaccy  for  you  to  warm  your  heart, 
and  don't  be  vexing  yourself  about  what's  past  and 
gone.  What's  Loch  Valley  or  any  other  valley  to 
us  now,  barring  we'd  get  a  day's  work  in  it,  and 
thank  yer  honour,  for  that  same,  to  the  man  that's 
in  it ! " 

What  a  strange  mingling  of  pride,  poverty,  and 
the  most  beautiful  and  truthful  filial  piety  were  be- 
neath that  wretched  roof!  How  difficult  it  would 
be  to  legislate,  kindly  and  wisely,  for  such  a  group  ! 
I  must  not,  however,  dwell  upon  incidents  when  I 
have  stories  to  relate,  combining  the  grave  and  gay, 
which  I  hope  will  not  be  uninteresting  to  the  Eng- 
lish, or,  dare  I  add,  unprofitable  to  the  Irish  reader ! 

If  I  have  a  quick  perception  of  my  country's 
faults,  God  knows  I  trust  I  have  a  warm  heart 
towards  her  virtues  and  the  deepest  sympathy  with 
her  sorrows. 


LILLY    O'BRIEN 

The  sweet  Lilly  of  Bannow ! — I  shall  never  forget 
the  morning  I  first  saw  her.  Her  aunt — who  does 
not  know  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Cassidy? — her  aunt  is 
positively  the  most  delightful  person  in  the  whole 
parish.  She  is  now  a  very  old  woman,  but  so 
"knowing"  that  she  settles  all  debatable  points 
that  arise  among  good  and  bad  housewives — from 
Mrs.  Connor  of  the  Hill  down  to  "  Polly  the 
Cadger" — as  to  the  proper  mode  of  making  mead, 
potato-cakes,  and  stirabout ;  and  always  decides 
who  are  the  best  spinners  and  knitters  in  the 
county — nay,  her  opinion,  given  after  long  delibera- 
tion, established  the  superiority  of  the  barrel,  over 
the  hand,  churn.  There  is,  however,  one  disputed 
matter  in  the  neighbourhood,  even  to  this  day. 
Mrs.  Cassidy — (it  is  very  extraordinary,  but  who  is 
without  some  weakness  ?) — Mrs.  Cassidy  will  have 
it  that  a  quern — an  obsolete  hand-mill  of  stone, 
still  patronised  by  "the  ancient  Irish"  —  grinds 
wheat  better  than  a  mill,  and  produces  finer  flour ; 
she  therefore  abuses  all  mills,  both  of  wind  and 
water,  and  persists  in  grinding  her  own  corn,  as 
well  as  in  making  her  own  bread.  By  the  bye,  this 


214  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

very  quern  was  in  great  danger  some  time  ago, 
when  an  antiquary,  who  had  hunted  hill  and  dale 
seeking  for  Danish  or  Roman  relics  (I  forget  which 
but  it  is  of  little  consequence),  pounced  upon  it 
declared  it  was  a  stone  bowl  of  great  antiquity,  and 
that  Mrs.  Cassidy's  maiden  name, "  Maura  O'Brien," 
carved  on  it  in  Irish  characters,  proved  it  to  have 
been  used,  either  by  Dane  or  Roman,  in  some 
religious  ceremony  or  Bacchanalian  rite,  I  cannot 
take  it  on  myself  to  say  which  : — but  this  I  know, 
that  the  old  gentleman  was  obstinate;  had  been 
accustomed  to  give  large  sums  for  ugly  things  of 
every  description,  and  thought  that  Mrs.  Cassidy 
could  be  induced  to  yield  up  her  favourite  for  three 
guineas.  He  never  was  more  mistaken  in  his  life : 
nothing  could  have  tempted  Mrs.  Cassidy  to  part 
with  her  dear  quern  ;  so  he  left  the  neighbourhood, 
almost  heart-broken  with  disappointment. 

I  respect  the  quern  myself,  for  it  was  the  means 
of  introducing  me  to  the  sweet  Lilly.  There,  that 
little  path,  bordered  with  oxlips,  primroses,  and 
unobtrusive  violets — 

' '  Whose  deep  blue  eyes, 
Kiss'd  by  the  breath  of  heaven,  seem  coloured  by  its  skies" — 

that  path  leads  to  Mrs.  Cassidy's  dwelling.  You 
cannot  see  the  cottage,  it  is  perfectly  hidden — 
absolutely  wooded  in ;  but  it  is  a  rare  specimen  of 
neatness.  The  farmyard  is  stocked  with  ricks  of 
corn,  hay,  and  furze;  with  a  puddle-like  pond  for 
ducks  and  geese,  and  a  sty  for  a  little  grunting 


LILLY  OBRIEN  21$ 

animal,  who  thinks  it  a  very  unjust  sentence  that 
consigns  a  free-born  Irish  pig  to  such  confinement. 
How  beautiful  is  the  hawthorn  hedge  ! — one  sheet 
of  snowy  blossom — and  such  a  row  of  beehives ! — 
while  the  white  walls  of  the  cottage  are  gemmed 
over  with  the  delicate  green,  half-budded,  leaves  of 
the  noble  rose  tree,  that  mounts  even  to  the  chimney- 
top  :  the  bees  will  banquet  rarely  there,  by  and  by. 
A  parlour  in  an  Irish  cabin  ! — yes,  in  good  truth, 
and  a  very  pretty  one :  the  floor  strewed  with  the 
ocean's  own  sparkling  sand ;  pictures  of  half  the 
head  saints  of  the  calendar,  in  black  frames,  and 
bright  green,  scarlet,  and  orange  draperies ;  a  corner 
cupboard,  displaying  china  and  glass  for  use  and 
show,  the  broken  parts  carefully  turned  to  the  wall ; 
the  inside  of  the  chimney  lined  with  square  tiles  of 
blue  earthenware,  and  over  it  an  ivory  crucifix  and 
a  small  white  chalice  full  of  holy  water ;  six  high- 
backed  chairs,  like  those  called  "  education "  of 
modern  days  ;  a  well-polished  round  oak  table,  and 
a  looking-glass  of  antique  form,  complete  the  fur- 
niture. The  window — forget  the  window! — oh, 
that  would  be  unpardonable !  It  consists  of  six 
unbroken  panes  of  glass,  and  outlooks  on  such  a 
scene  as  I  have  seldom  witnessed.  Let  us  open 
the  lattice — what  a  gush  of  pure,  invigorating  air ! 
Behold  and  gaze — ay,  first  on  the  flower-bed  that 
extends  to  where  Mrs.  Cassidy,  with  right  good 
taste,  has  opened  a  view  in  the  hawthorn  hedge ; 
then  on,  down  that  sloping  meadow,  dotted  with 
sheep  and  echoing  the  plaintive  bleat  of  the  young 


2l6  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

and  tender  lambs;  on,  on  to  the  towering  cliff, 
which  sends,  leaping  over  its  blackened  sides,  a 
sparkling,  foaming  torrent,  rapid  as  lightning  and 
flashing  like  congregated  diamonds,  when  the  sun's 
brightness  is  upon  it,  to  the  wide-spreading  sea, 
which  reposes  in  its  grandeur  like  a  sheet  of  molten 
silver.  Yonder  torrent  is  strangely  beautiful.  The 
rock  from  which  it  gushes  is  dark  and  frowning, 
not  even  a  plant  springing  from  its  sterile  bed  ;  yet 
the  pure  water  issues  from  it,  full  of  light,  life,  and 
immortality,  like  the  spirit  from  the  Christian's 
clay.  Dear  Mrs.  Cassidy  loves  the  sea :  her  husband 
was  owner  and  commander  of  a  small  trading  vessel ; 
and  her  happiest  days  were  spent  in  coasting  with 
him  along  the  Irish,  English,  and  Welsh  shores. 
He  died  in  his  own  comfortable  home,  and  was 
quietly  buried  in  Bannow  church,  leaving  his  widow 
(who,  but  for  her  rich  brogue,  might,  from  her 
habits,  have  passed  for  an  Englishwoman)  and  one 
son  independent  of  the  frowns  or  smiles  of  a  capri- 
cious world.  They  had  wherewithal  to  make  them 
happy  in  their  own  sphere. 

Edward  was,  even  at  two  years  old,  an  embryo 
sailor ;  a  careless,  open-hearted  boy,  who  loved 
everything  ardently,  but  nothing  long — except,  in- 
deed, his  mother,  who  often  regretted  that  his 
rambling  disposition  afforded  her  so  little  prospect 
of  enjoyment  in  after  life.  She  had  a  brother  in 
the  north  of  Ireland,  who,  dying,  left  an  only  child, 
our  fair  Lilly,  lovely  and  desolate  in  a  cold  world  : 
but  Mrs.  Cassidy  would  not  suffer  any  of  her  kith 


WOULD  IT   POUT  WITH   ITS   BIDDY? 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,  R.S.A. 


'    '-     '-      -M.-:        ... 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  217 

or  kin  to  want  while  she  had  "full  and  plinty"; 
and,  accompanied  by  Edward,  then  a  youth  of 
fifteen,  she  journeyed  to  Tyrone,  and  returned  to 
her  cottage  with  the  orphan  girl.  Soon  after  this 
circumstance  (of  which  I  was  then  ignorant),  I  paid 
the  good  lady  a  visit ;  and  when  the  country  topics, 
of  setting  hens,  feeding  calves,  and  the  dearness  of 
provisions,  were  exhausted,  I  inquired  if  she  still 
used  her  quern  ? 

"Is  it  the  quern? — and  that  I  do,  lady.  Just 
look  at  this  !" — (producing  a  very  nice  and  snowy 
cake).  "  And,  sure,  bad  manners  to  me  for  not  ax- 
ing ye  to  taste  it,  and  my  own  gooseberry,  before  ! 
Look  at  this:  there's  not  a  mill  in  the  counthry 
could  turn  out  such  bread  as  that ;  and  if  ye  like 
to  see  it  at  work,  I've  just  lifted  it  under  the  thorn 
yonder,  to  the  sunny  side  of  the  ditch,  and  been 
instructing  a  poor  colleen,  that  the  world  'ud  be 
after  hitting  hard  because  she'd  no  friends,  never 
a  one,  barring  me,  if  I  hadn't  brought  her  here  to 
be  like  my  own — and  why  not,  sure !  and  she  my 
brother's  child  ?  Well,  I've  been  teaching  her  how 
to  use  the  quern,  as  in  duty  bound.  She's  helpless 
as  yet,  but  she  shall  soon  know  everything." 

I  followed  Mrs.  Cassidy  into  the  garden,  and,  look- 
ing towards  "  the  sunny  side  of  the  hedge,"  saw 
the  child  she  had  mentioned.  She  was  then  thir- 
teen ;  her  figure  slight  and  bending  as  a  willow 
wand,  and  the  deep  black  of  her  low  frock  finely 
contrasted  with  a  skin  transparently  white.  Her 
hair  fell  in  thick  curls  over  her  neck  and  shoulders, 


218  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

and  in  the  sunbeams  looked  like  burnished  gold. 
It  was  not  red — oh  no! — but  a  pale,  shining,  and 
silky  auburn.  She  was  occupied  in  turning  the 
quern  with  one  hand  and  letting  the  grain  drop 
from  the  other.  When  she  looked  towards  us  and 
shook  back  the  curls  from  her  face,  I  thought  I  had 
never  seen  so  sweet  a  countenance :  her  forehead 
was  high  and  finely  formed,  but  her  soft  blue  eyes 
seemed  acquainted  rather  with  tears  than  smiles. 
There  was  something  even  more  than  polite  in  her 
address — it  possessed  much  of  rustic  dignity ;  and 
the  tones  of  her  voice  were  like  those  of  a  well-tuned 
instrument. 

The  cottage  now  possessed  for  me  a  charm  that 
was  irresistible ;  for,  superior  as  the  people  of  Ban- 
now  are  to  the  general  Irish  community,  nothing  so 
pure  as  the  Lilly  had  ever  blossomed  among  us 
before. 

Even  the  rude  peasantry  seemed  to  look  on  her 
as  something  far  above  them ;  and  when,  accom- 
panied by  her  aunt  and  cousin,  she  passed  up  Car- 
rick-hill  on  the  Sabbath  morning,  to  join  in  the 
prayers  and  receive  the  blessing  of  the  priest,  they 
all  watched  her  footsteps,  and  declared  that  she 
appeared  "  a'most  like  a  born  gentlewoman  " — no 
small  praise  from  the  humbler  Irish,  who  venerate 
high  birth.  Lilly's  time  was  not  idly  spent :  Mrs. 
Cassidy  resolved  that  she  should  know  everything  ; 
and  as  her  childish  days  had  been  occupied  solely 
in  the  business  of  education — as  she  read  correctly, 
and  wrote  intelligibly — it  was  time,  the  good  lady 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  219 

thought,  to  teach  her  all  useful  occupations.  Conse- 
quently, spinning  succeeded  knitting,  and  then  came 
marking,  shirt-making  in  all  its  divisions — namely, 
felling,  stitching,  button-holes,  and  sewing;  then 
milking  and  churning ;  the  best  practical  method 
of  hatching  and  bringing  up  chickens,  ducks,  tur- 
keys, geese,  and  even  pea-fowl — two  of  the  latter 
were,  unfortunately  for  poor  Lilly,  given  to  her  aunt 
just  as  she  arrived  at  the  cottage ;  then  the  never- 
ending  boiling  of  eggs  and  chopping  of  nettle-tops 
for  the  young  turkeys,  that  they  might  put  forth 
their  red  heads  without  danger  of  croup  or  pip  ; 
then  the  calf,  an  obstinate  orphan,  had  to  be  dosed 
with  beaten  eggs  and  new  milk,  because  she  would 
not  feed  as  she  ought;  her  cousin's  and  aunt's 
stockings  to  be  regularly  mended ;  and,  worst  of 
all,  a  dirty  shoeless  gipsy,  the  maid  of  all  work  to 
the  establishment,  was  given  to  my  sweet  Lilly's 
superintendence — to  Lilly,  who  had  never  known 
a  mother's  care,  had  been  a  foolish  father's  idol, 
and  who  had  no  more  method  or  management  than 
a  baby  of  five  months  old.  However,  her  patience 
and  gentleness  worked  wonders ;  from  before  sun- 
rise she  toiled  and  thought,  and  at  the  end  of  six 
months  astonished  even  Mrs.  Cassidy.  The  quern 
never  ground  such  fine  flour,  the  poultry  were 
never  so  well  fatted,  the  needlework  was  never  so 
neatly  finished,  and  the  cottage  never  so  happy  as 
since  Lilly  had  been  its  inmate  !  When  the  toils  of 
the  day  were  comparatively  ended,  and  the  refresh- 
ing breezes  of  evening  rambled  among  the  sweet 


220  IRISH   LIFE   AND   CHARACTER 

yet  simple  flowers  that  blossomed  in  the  garden, 
Lilly  loved  to  sit  and  read,  and  watch  the  blue 
waters;  and  as  the  night  advanced,  gaze  on  the 
meek  moon  floating  in  the  heavens. 

She  had  resided  nearly  three  years  at  the  cottage, 
and  was,  one  fine  summer  evening,  sitting  under  the 
old  thorn  tree.  Some  grief  must  have  been  heavy 
at  her  heart,  for  tears,  in  the  full  moonlight,  were 
trembling  on  her  long  eyelashes.  Perhaps  her  aunt 
had  been  angry,  or  Edward  had  plagued  her  with 
too  many  of  his  never-ending  errands. 

"  Well,  cousin  Lilly  ! "  exclaimed  a  joyous  voice, 
"  I  never  saw  such  a  queer  girl  as  ye  are.  Ye've 
been  trotting,  and  mending,  and  bothering  all  day, 
and  now,  instead  of  a  race,  or  a  dance,  or  anything 
that  way,  there  ye  sit,  with  yer  ould  books,  and  yer 
blue  eyes,  that  bate  the  world  for  beauty.  Lilly 
dear — tears  !  As  I  stand  here,  you've  been  crying  ! 
What  ails  ye,  Lilly  ? — what  ails  ye,  I  say  ?  I  take 
it  very  unkind  of  ye,  Lilly," — and  he  sat  down  and 
took  her  hand  with  much  affection, — "  I  take  it  very 
unkind  of  ye  to  have  any  trouble  unknown  to  me 
who  loves  ye "  (Lilly  tried  to  withdraw  her  hand) 
"  as  an  own  brother.  Has  mother  vexed  ye  ?  " 

"Oh  no!" 

"Well,  then,  cheer  up!  Come,  come!  James 
Connor  has  lent  us  his  barn  to-night,  and  I  met 
Kelly  the  Piper  going  there,  and  there'll  be  a  merry 
spree,  and  you  must  jig  it  with  me,  and  Harry  too, 
Lilly  dear ;  and  mother'll  be  glad  ye  go.  Come, 
sure  ye're  a  blessing  to  the  ground  ye  walk  on. 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  221 

Come,  put  on  yer  pumps  and  white  stockings.  The 
people  say  ye're  proud,  Lilly,  but  ye're  not — though 
ye  might  be,  for  there's  not  one  in  the  parish  like  ye." 

Lilly's  heart  fluttered  like  a  caged  bird  'as  she 
did  her  cousin's  bidding,  and  accompanied  him 
to  the  barn,  where  the  piper  was  blowing  his  best 
for  the  boys  and  girls,  who  footed  gaily  to  their 
favourite  jigs.  The  Irish,  old  and  young,  rich  and 
poor,  all  love  dancing ;  and  if  their  national  dance 
be  rude  and  ungraceful,  there  is  something  heart- 
cheering  in  witnessing  the  hilarity  with  which  it  in- 
spires them. 

While  Lilly  and  Edward  were  joining  in  the 
amusements  of  the  evening,  Mrs.  Cassidy  was 
sleeping  or  knitting  'at  her  kitchen  fire,  until  dis- 
turbed by  the  raising  of  the  latch,  and  the  "  God 
save  all  here  !  "  of  "  Peggy  the  Fisher." 

I  wish  I  could  bring  Peggy  "  bodily  "  before  you, 
but  she  is  almost  a  nondescript.  Her  linsey-woolsey 
gown,  pinned  up  behind,  fully  displayed  her  short 
scarlet  petticoat,  sky-blue  stockings,  and  thick 
brogues ;  a  green  spotted  kerchief  tied  over  her 
cap — then  a  sunburnt,  smoke-dried,  flatted  straw 
hat — while  the  basket  of  fish  resting  "  on  a  wisp  o' 
hay  "  completed  her  head-gear.  Whenever  I  met 
her  in  my  rambles,  her  clear,  loud  voice  was  always 
employed  either  in  singing  the  "  Colleen  Rue  "  or 
repeating  a  prayer, — indeed  when  she  was  tired  of 
the  one,  she  always  returned  to  the  other, — and, 
stopping  short  the  moment  she  saw  me,  she  would 
commence  with — 


222  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  Wisha,  thin,  it's  my  heart  bates  double  joy  to  see 
you  this  very  minit.  Will  ye  turn  yer  two  good- 
looking  eyes  on  thim  beautiful  fish,  leaping  alive  out 
o'the  basket,  my  jewil.  Och,it's  thimselves  are  fresh, 
and  it's  they  'ud  be  proud  if  ye'd  jist  tell  us  what 
ye'd  like,  and  then  we'd  let  ye  have  it  a  dead  bar- 
gain ! " 

Peggy  was  certainly  the  queen  of  manoeuvring, 
and  thought  it  "  no  harm  in  life  to  make  an  honest 
pinny  out  o'  thim  that  could  afford  it " ;  but  she 
had  strong  affections,  keen  perceptions,  and  much 
fidelity.  Her  ostensible  trade  was  selling  fish,  but 
there  was  often  more  in  her  basket  than  met  the 
eye — French  silks,  rich  lace,  or  some  drops  of 
smuggled  brandy  for  choice  customers.  When  the 
farmers'  wives  could  not  pay  her  in  cash,  they  paid 
her  in  kind — meal,  feathers,  chickens,  and  even 
sucking-pigs ;  which  Peggy  easily  disposed  of,  so 
extensive  were  her  connections.  Then,  she  was  the 
general  match-maker  and  match-breaker  of  the 
county.  Those  who  could  write  confided  to  her 
their  letters ;  those  who  could  not,  made  her  the 
messenger  of  sweet  or  bitter  words  as  occasion 
required.  But  to  do  Peggy  justice,  she  has  even  re- 
fused money — ay,  solid  silver  and  gold — rather  than 
prate  of  love  affairs  ;  for  she  pitied  (to  use  her  own 
words) "  she  pitied  the  young  crathurs  in  love  ;  well 
remimbering  how  her  own  soft  heart  was  broke, 
many's  the  day  ago."  Peggy  lived  anywhere — 
everywhere.  There  were  few,  married  or  single, 
who  either  had  not  needed,  did  not  need,  or  might 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  223 

not  need,  Peggy  the  Fisher's  assistance;  and  the 
best  bit  and  sup  in  the  house  were  readily  placed 
before  her. 

"  Och,  Peggy,  honey  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Cassidy, 
"  is  that  yerself! — Sure  'tis  I  that's  glad  to  see  ye, 
agra.  And  what'll  ye  take  ? — a  drop  of  tay,  or 
a  trifle  o'  whisky  to  keep  the  could  out  o'  yer 
stomach,  or  maybe  a  bit  to  ate  ? — there's  lashings 
o'  white  bread,  and  sweet  milk,  and  the  freshest  eggs 
ever  was  laid." 

"  Thank  ye  kindly,  Mrs.  Cassidy,  ma'am  ;  sure  it's 
yerself  has  full  and  plinty  for  a  poor  lone  woman 
like  myself.  I'll  take  the  laste  taste  in  life  o'  whisky 
— and  maybe  ye'd  take  a  drop  o'  this,  ma'am  dear — 
a  little  corjial  I  has,  to  keep  off  the  water-flash,"  she 
added,  with  a  peculiar  expression  of  her  left  eye,  as 
she  placed  her  basket  on  the  table. 

"  Have  ye  got  anything  striking  handsome  under 
thim  dirty  seaweeds  and  dawny  shrimpeens,  agra  ?  " 
inquired  Mrs.  Cassidy. 

"  Maybe  I  have  so,  my  darlint,  though  it's  little 
a  poor  lone  cratur  like  me  can  afford  to  do  these  hard 
times ;  and  the  custom-officers,  the  thieving  villains, 
in  Waterford,  Duncannon,  and  about  there,  they's 
grown  so  'cute  that  there's  no  doing  wid  them  now 
at  all.  There's  a  thing  that's  fit  for  St.  Patrick's 
mother,  anyhow,"  displaying  a  green  shawl  with  red 
roses  on  it.  "  There's  a  born  beauty  for  ye ! — and  such 
natural  flowers,  the  likes  of  it  not  to  be  met  wid  in 
a  month  o'  Sundays  !  There's  a  beauty !  " 

"  Sure  I've  the  world  and  all  o'  shawls,  Peggy, 


224  IRISH   LIFE   AND  CHARACTER 

avourneen ! — and  anyhow,  that's  not  to  my  fancy. 
What  'ud  ye  be  axing  for  that  sky-blue  silk  hand- 
kerchief? " 

"  Is  it  that  ye're  after  ?  It's  the  last  I  got  o'  the 
kind,  and  who  'ud  I  give  a  bargain  to  as  soon  as 
yerself,  Mrs.  Cassidy,  ma'am  ? — And  ye  shall  have 
it  for  what  it  cost  myself,  and  that's  chape  betwixt 
two  sisters.  It's  ra'al  Frinch,  the  beauty  ! — and  it's 
wronging  myself  I  am  to  give  it  for  any  sich  money 
— dog  chape,  at  six  thirteens." l 

"  Och,  ye  Tory ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Cassidy :  "  six 
thirteens  for  that  bit  of  a  thing !  Is  that  the  way 
ye  want  to  come  over  a  poor  widow,  ye  thief  o'  the 
world ! "  and  she  avoided  looking  at  the  tempting 
article  by  fixing  her  eyes  on  her  knitting,  and  work- 
ing with  double  speed. 

"  Well,  mistress  dear,  I  never  thought  ye'd  be  so 
out  of  all  rason,"  and  Peggy  half  folded  up  the  hand- 
kerchief. Mrs.  Cassidy  knitted  on,  and  never  even 
glanced  at  it. 

"  It's  for  Miss  Lilly,  I'm  thinking,  ye  want  it ;  and 
sure  there's  nothing  in  life  would  look  so  very  nate 
on  her  milk-white  skin  as  a  sky-blue  handkerchief — 
and  so,  ma'am,  ye  won't  take  it,and  it  killing  chape?  " 

Mrs.  Cassidy  shook  her  head. 

"  Well,tobe  sure,  for  you  I  would  do so, there !" 

(throwing  it  on  the  table)  "  ye  shall  have  it  for  five 
thirteens;  and  that's  all  as  one  as  ruination  to 
myself." 

1  The  English  shilling  was  so  called  before  the  equalisation  of  the 
coinage,  its  value  being  thirteen  pence. 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  225 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what,  Peggy,  a'cushla ! "  and  Mrs. 
Cassidy  took  off  her  spectacles  and  looked  at  the 
kerchief  attentively, — "  I'll  tell  ye  what :  it  was  four 
thirteens  ye  meant ;  and  ye  meant  also  to  give  Lilly 
two  yards  o'  that  narrow  blue  riband  for  knots,  that 
ye  promised  her  long  agone." 

"  I  own  to  the  promise,  as  a  body  may  say,"  re- 
sponded Peggy, — "  I  own  to  the  promise ;  but  as  to 
the  four  thirteens  for  such  as  that ! — woman  alive  ! 
— why " 

"  Asy,  asy,  Peggy  honey,  no  harm  in  life ! " 
interrupted  Mrs.  Cassidy ;  "  take  the  blue  rag,  it's 
no  consarn  o'  mine." 

"  Blue  rag,  indeed  ! — but " — after  a  pause — "  it's 
no  rag,  Mrs.  Cassidy,  ma'am,  and  there's  no  one 
knows  that  betther  nor  you  that  has  all  the  wisdom 
in  the  whole  counthry  to  yerself;  but,  howsomever, 
take  it;  sure  I  wouldn't  disagree  with  an  ould 
residenther  for  the  vallee  of  a  few  brass  fardins." 

Mrs.  Cassidy  extracted  from  the  depths  of  an 
almost  unfathomable  pocket  a  long  stocking,  slit 
like  a  purse  in  the  centre  seam,  and  tied  with  a 
portion  of  red  tape  at  either  end.  From  amid  sundry 
crown,  half-crown,  "  tin-pinny,"  and  "  five-pinny  " 
pieces,  the  exact  sum  was  selected,  paid,  and  the 
kerchief  deposited  in  an  ancient  cupboard  that  ex- 
tended half  the  length  of  the  kitchen,  and  frowned, 
in  all  the  dignity  of  Jamaica  mahogany,  on  the 
chairs,  settle,  and  deal  table. 

"  The  boy  and  girl  are  out,  I'm  thinking,"  com- 
menced Peggy,  as  she  lit  her  cutty  pipe  and  placed 
15 


226  IRISH   LIFE   AND  CHARACTER 

herself  comfortably  in  the  chimney  corner,  to  enjoy 
the  bit  of  gossip,  or,  as  well-bred  people  call  it, 
"  conversation,"  which  the  ladies,  ay,  and  the  lords 
of  the  creation,  so  dearly  love. 

"  They're  stept  down  to  Connor's,  to  have  a  bit  of 
a  jig.  I'm  right  glad  to  get  Lilly  out,  she's  so  quiet 
and  gentle,  and  cares  as  little  for  a  dance,  and  less, 
by  a  dale,  than  I  do ! " 

"  Och,  ma'am  dear,  that's  wonderful,  and  she  so 
young,  and  so  perfect  handsome ! — and  more  than 
me  thinks  that  same." 

"  Who  thinks  so,  Peggy  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Cassidy 
anxiously. 

"What!— ye  don't  know,  maybe?— Why,  thin, 
I'll  jist  hould  my  tongue." 

"  Ye'll  do  no  such  thing,  Peggy.  Sure  the  colleen 
is  as  the  sight  o'  my  eye — as  dear  to  my  heart  as 
my  own  child,  which  I  hope  she'll  be  one  o'  these 
days,  plase  God ;  and  I  tould  ye  as  good  as  that 
before  now — the  time,  d'ye  mind,  I  bought  her  the 
green  silk  spencer.  And  why  not  ?  A'n't  I  rareing 
her  up  in  all  my  own  ways  ? — and  isn't  she  o'  my 
own  blood  ?  And  Ned,  the  wild  boy,  that  has  full 
and  plinty  to  keep  him  at  home,  if  he'd  jist  mind 
the  land  a  bit  and  give  over  his  sailing  talk,  'ud 
make  a  fit  husband  for  her ;  and  thin  I  could  make 
my  sowl,  and  die  asy  in  yon  little  room,  betwixt 
my  son  and  daughter.  And  I  tell  ye  what,  Peggy 
the  Fisher,  there's  no  use  in  any  boy's  casting  an 
eye  at  my  Lilly,  for  Ned's  wife  she  shall  be ;  and 
I,  Maura  Cassidy,  say  it — that  was  never  gain- 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  227 

said  in  a  thing  she  took  in  her  head,  by  man  or 
mortal." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear,  very  well,  why !  "  ejaculated 
Peggy,  as,  gathering  herself  over  the  dying  embers 
of  the  turf  fire,  with  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  she 
jogged  slowly  backward  and  forward,  like  the  rock- 
ing motion  of  a  cradle.  They  both  remained  silent 
for  some  time.  But  Mrs.  Cassidy's  curiosity,  that 
unwearying  feeling  of  woman's  heart,  neither 
slumbered  nor  slept ;  and,  after  waiting  in  vain  for 
Peggy  to  recommence  the  conversation,  she  could 
sustain  herself  no  longer. 

"  Who  was  talking  about  Lilly's  beauty,  Peggy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  sure  everybody  talks  of  it ;  and 
why  not  ? " 

"  Ay,  but  who  in  particular?" 

"  Och,  agra ! — no  one  to  say  particular — that  is, 
very  particular." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  my  good  woman,"  said  Mrs. 
Cassidy,  rising  from  her  seat  and  fixing  herself 
opposite  the  Fisher :  "  if  I  find  out  that  you've  been 
hearing  or  saying  anything,  or  what  is  more,  hiding 
anything  from  me,  regarding  my  boy  and  girl,  when 
I  get  you  the  other  side  o'  the  door — for  I  wouldn't 
say  an  indacent  thing  in  my  own  house — I'll  jist 
civilly  tell  ye  my  mind,  and  ax  ye  to  keep  yer 
distance,  and  not  to  be  meddling  and  making  wid 
what  doesn't  consarn  ye." 

Peggy  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  her  pipe,  crammed 
her  middle  finger  into  it  to  ascertain  that  all  was 
safe,  and,  putting  it  into  her  pocket,  curtsied  to 


228  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

Mrs.  Cassidy,  and  spoke.  "  As  to  *  good  woman/ 
that's  what  I  was  niver  called  afore ;  and  as  to  not 
hearing,  would  ye  have  me  cork  my  ears  whin  I 
hard  Ned  and  Harry  Connor  discoorsing  about  the 
girl,  and  I  at  the  other  side  o'  the  hedge  ?  Och, 
och ! — to  think  I  should  iver  be  so  put  upon  !  But 
good-night,  good-night  to  ye,  Mistress  Cassidy — 
cork  my  ears,  agra !  And  now,"  she  continued,  as 
she  hastily  stepped  over  the  threshold,  "  I'm  at  the 
other  side  the  door,  so  say  yer  say." 

Mrs.  Cassidy's  curiosity  was  more  excited  than 
ever,  and  her  short-lived  anger  vanished  as  Peggy 
withdrew. 

"  Stop,  Peggy  ! — don't  be  so  hot  and  so  hasty : 
sure  I  spoke  the  word  out  o'  the  face,1  and  meant 
no  harm.  Come  in,  a'cushla ;  it's  but  natural  I'd  be 
fiery  about  thim,  and  they  my  heart's  treasures." 

In  three  minutes  they  were  as  good  friends  as 
ever,  and  Peggy  disclosed  the  secret,  which,  not- 
withstanding her  apparent  unwillingness,  she  had 
visited  the  cottage  to  tell.  "Ye  mind  the  thorn 
hedge,  where  the  hill  slopes  off? — well,  the  day  was 
hot,  and  I  tired  with  the  heat,  and  the  basket,  and 
one  little  thing  or  another ;  and  so  down  I  sits  on 
the  shady  side,  thinking  o'  nothin'  at  all,  only  the 
crows — the  craturs — flying  to  and  fro,  feeding  the 
young  rawpots  that  kicked  up  such  a  bobbery  in 
their  nests  wid  the  hunger ;  and  of  what  the  priest 
said  from  the  altar  against  smuggling,  as  if  he  was 
in  right  down  arnest  about  it ;  and  then  it  crassed 
1  Without  consideration. 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  229 

my  mind,  to  be  sure,  how  hard  it  was  for  a  poor 
lone  body  to  make  an  honest  bit  o'  bread  these 
hard  times,  and  the  priest  himself  agin  it.  Well, 
by  an'  by,  who  comes  shtreelin'  up  the  hill  at  my 
back  but  your  Ned  and  young  Harry  Connor; 
well,  I  was  jist  goin'  to  spake,  but  by  grate  good 
luck  I  held  my  whisht.1  Well,  the  first  word  I 
hears  was  from  Ned's  own  mouth,  and  they  were 
a  good  piece  off  at  the  time,  too.  '  She's  always 
the  same,'  says  be, '  always — sure  I  love  her  as  my 
own  sister.'  '  Maybe  more  nor  that,'  says  Harry, 
quite  solid.  '  Harry,'  says  Ned,  solid  like,  too, 
1  don't  go  to  the  fair  wid  a  joke.  Look,  I'd  suffer 
this  arm  to  be  burnt  to  the  stump  to  do  Lilly  any 
good ;  heart  friendship  I  have  for  her,  and  well  she 
desarves  it,  but  no  heart  love.'  Wid  that,  my 
jewil !  I  thought  Harry  Connor  'ud  have  shook  the 
hand  bodily  off  Ned ;  and  thin  I  hard  Ned  say  as 
how  he'd  like  a  more  dashinger  girl  for  a  wife  nor 
his  cousin ;  and  thin,  agin,  he  talked  about  travel- 
ling into  furrin  parts  ;  and  thin  they  comaraded 
how  Ned  'ud  bring  them  in  company  together  as 
often  as  he  could,  and  talked  a  dale  o'  the  dance, 
and  Ned  said  he  never  see  the  colleen  yet  he'd 
like  to  marry ;  and  Harry's  quite  done  over,  for  he 
swore  he'd  lay  down  his  life  for  one  look  o'  love 
from  Lilly's  eyes ;  and  they  kep'  on  talk  in'  and 
talkin',  and  I  kep'  creepin'  an'  creepin'  alongside  the 
ditch,  till  the  road  turned  : — and  ye  know  it  was  my 
duty  to  find  the  rights  of  it,  and  you  consarned." 

1  Held  my  tongue — kept  silent. 


230  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

Mrs.  Cassidy  waxed  very  wroth  as  Peggy's  nar- 
rative drew  towards  a  close ;  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  that  the  cousins  should  be  married,  and 
thought  she  had  managed  the  matter  admirably. 
She  was  always  praising  Edward  to  Lilly,  and 
Lilly  to  Edward ;  and  it  was  quite  impossible  to 
think  that  two  creatures  so  perfect  (notwithstand- 
ing, it  must  be  confessed,  that  her  son  often  occa- 
sioned her  much  anxiety),  and,  in  her  opinion,  so 
well  suited  to  each  other,  should  be  constantly  in 
each  other's  society  without  falling  in  love.  Lilly's 
anxiety  to  promote  her  cousin's  happiness,  the  per- 
fect willingness  with  which  she  made  all  her  in- 
dustry, all  her  amusements,  yield  to  his  caprice, 
convinced  Mrs.  Cassidy  that  she  would  not  oppose 
her  wishes :  and  then  came  another  puzzling  con- 
sideration— Edward  had  always  appeared  so  very 
fond  of  Lilly  !  The  poor  woman  was  fairly  baffled. 
How  she  wished  that  Harry  Connor  was  little,  old, 
and  withered  as  a  cluricawn !  but  no,  he  was  tall, 
handsome,  and  more  gentle,  more  polished  than  her 
son.  Ned  was  gay  and  careless  as  ever :  his  raven 
hair  curled  lightly  over  his  finely  formed  head,  and 
his  hazel  eyes,  full  of  bright  laughter,  accorded  well 
with  the  merry  smile  that  played  round  his  mouth. 
He  was  frank  and  generous,  but  he  was  also  violent 
and  capricious.  Had  Lilly  not  been  so  much  with 
him,  nay,  perhaps,  even  had  he  not  instinctively 
felt  that  his  mother  wished  him  to  marry  her,  he 
might  have  fallen  over  head  and  ears  in  love.  He 
admired  and  respected  Lilly,  yet  her  quiet  virtues 


LILLY   OBRIEN  231 

were  a  silent  reproach  to  his  heedlessness,  and  at 
heart  he  longed  to  sail  on  the  blue  waters  and 
visit  other  lands.  Next  to  his  mother  and  cousin 
in  his  regard  came  Harry  Connor  ;  and  Harry  well 
deserved  it.  He  was  a  most  extraordinary  Irish- 
man— cautious  and  prudent,  even  when  a  youth, 
and  gentle  and  constant.  The  second  son  of  an 
opulent  grazier,  he  had  been  educated  for  the  priest- 
hood, and  would,  no  doubt,  have  been  useful  in  his 
ministry,  for  he  had  kindly  feelings  towards  all 
his  fellow-creatures,  but  that  the  death  of  his  elder 
brother  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  assist  his  father 
and  family  in  the  management  of  the  grass  farm. 

Poor  Mrs.  Cassidy ! — do  you  not  pity  her  ? 
Mothers  are  the  same,  I  believe,  all  the  world  over ; 
and  really  it  is  "  too  bad  "  that  an  outcry  should  be 
raised  against  their  innocent  manceuvrings,  though 
it  must  be  confessed  they  are  sometimes  very 
annoying,  and  not  unfrequently  end  in  a  manner 
little  to  be  anticipated.  Poor  Mrs.  Cassidy !  After 
a  few  moments'  cogitation,  she  was  about  to  give 
vent  to  her  anger,  when  the  sweet  voice  of  Lilly  was 
heard,  bidding  "  good-night  and  thank  ye  kindly," 
to — Harry  Connor. 

"  Stay,  stop,  asy  ! "  ejaculated  Peggy,  jumping 
up  "  If  that's  Misther  Harry,  maybe"  (calling  after 
him)  "ye'd  jist  give  me,  a  poor  cratur,  a  bit  o'  yer 
company  down  the  lane,  that  I  don't  like  to  go 
alone.  Good-night  to  ye  kindly,  and  the  blessing 
be  about  ye."  And  basket  and  all  went  off  at  a 
short  trot — Peggy's  peculiar  gait. 


232  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"What  ails  ye,  aunt  dear?"  affectionately  in- 
quired Lilly ;  for  Mrs.  Cassidy  had  not  spoken. 

"  What  ails  you,  girl  alive — or  dead — for  ye're  as 
white  as  a  sheet — and  where's  Ned  ? " 

"  Ned  went  a  piece  of  the  way  home  with  Katey 
Turner,"  replied  Lilly,  blushing,  and  tears  gathering 
in  her  eyes  at  the  same  time. 

"  And  you  came  a  piece  with  Harry  Connor?  " 

"  I  could  not  help  it,  aunt  dear,"  said  Lilly  ear- 
nestly. "  Sure,  Ned  ran  off  with  Katey,  and  asked 
Harry  to  see  me  home." 

"  He  did,  did  he  ?  Why,  then,"  cried  the  dame, 
rising  in  a  passion,  "I'll  soon  tache  him  betther 
manners,  the  reprobate ! " 

"  Oh,  aunt,  dear  aunt ! " — and  poor  Lilly  threw 
her  arms  around  Mrs.  Cassidy's  neck — "oh,  don't 
say  a  hard  word  to  Ned — oh,  maybe  he  couldn't 
help  it ! "  and  she  burst  into  tears.  "  But  don't,  oh, 
don't,  for  the  sake  o'  her  that  never  angered  ye, 
don't  say  a  hard  word  to  Ned  !  " 

"  Ye're  a  good  girl,  I'll  say  that  for  you,  anyhow, 
my  own  colleen,"  said  Mrs.  Cassidy,  kissing  her 
fair  forehead.  "  There,  go  to  bed,  my  darlint ;  ye 
look  very  pale,  a'n't  ye  well ! " 

"  Yes,  aunt,  thank  ye ;  but  ye're  not  angry  with 
Ned?" 

"  Well,  well,  go  to  bed ;  I'll  not  scold  him  much, 
avourneen  ? " 

"  Not  at  all,  at  all,  my  own  dear  aunt ! " 

"  Well  there,  agra,  you've  begged  him  ofl.  Stay 
a  minute,  gramachree ! " — Lilly  was  mounting  the 


BRIGHT   PROSPECT 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,  R.S.A. 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  233 

steps  that  led  to  her  small  chamber  :  she  returned. 
"  I  just  wanted  my  child  to  tell  me  why  she  calls 
me  aunt  now,  that  used  to  call  me  mother  when 
first  she  came  to  me.  Lilly  darlint !  am  I  less  a 
mother  to  ye  now  than  I  used  to  be  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no  ! — not  that,  dear  a mother," 

she  stammered  out,  and  again  her  face  and  bosom 
were  red, — "  not  that ! " 

"What,  then,  Lilly  love?  I  hope  I'm  yer  frind, 
and  ye  ought  to  tell  me." 

"Oh,  nothin'  at  all — only  Katey  and  the  girls 
laughed  when  I  called  you  mother,  and  said " 

"  What  did  they  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  all  a  folly ! — only  they  said — 'twas  all  a 
folly — they're  very  foolish,  I'm  sure." 

"  Well,  but  what  was  it,  a'cushla  ?  " 

"Why,  that  there  could  be  only  three  sorts  of 
mothers — born  mothers,  and  stepmothers — and, 
and — oh,  it's  all  a  folly" — (poor  Lilly  covered  her 
face  with  her  shawl) — "  mothers-in-law." 

Mrs.  Cassidy  replied  not,  but  kissed  her  cheek, 
and  then  Lilly  flew  up  the  ladder — closed  her  door 
— after  a  pause,  half  opened  it  again,  and  without 
showing  her  face,  said,  "  Remember,  you  promised 
not  to  be  angry  with  Ned." 

Lilly's  feelings  were  both  new  and  painful ;  she 
wept  very  bitterly,  as  she  knelt  at  the  side  of  her 
humble  couch  and  pressed  her  face  to  the  coverlet. 
Was  it  because  her  aunt  was  angry  with  Edward  ? 
No;  for  her  anger  was  like  the  shower  in  April, 
ardent,  but  passing  soon.  Was  she  vexed  at 


234  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

Edward's  attention  to  Katey  ?  She  certainly  thought 
he  danced,  laughed,  and  jested  with  her  more  than 
was  necessary — but  why  unhappy  at  that  ? — Katey 
was  her  friend,  Edward  her  cousin.  When  Harry 
pressed  her  hand  with  so  much  tenderness  at  the 
cottage  door,  why  did  she  shake  it  from  him,  and 
feel  as  if  insulted?  Lilly  knew  not  her  own  heart, 
and  wondered  why  she  had  spoken  so  sharply  to 
poor  Harry — Harry,  who  lent  her  books,  and  whose 
kindness  was  proverbial  all  over  the  parish.  She 
was  bewildered  ;  all  she  knew  was,  that  she  was  more 
unhappy  than  ever  she  had  been  in  her  life.  She 
sat  long,  trying  to  collect  her  senses,  and  at  last  the 
rushlight  sank  into  the  socket  of  the  white- ware 
candlestick — it  had  been  her  cousin's  present.  Then 
she  again  remembered  that,  although  the  moon- 
beams had  long  since  peeped  through  her  little 
window,  Edward  had  not  returned.  She  opened  the 
casement,  which  enclosed  only  two  small  panes  of 
glass  :  the  glorious  prospect  lay  before  her,  and  the 
watch-light  gleamed  brightly,  over  the  dark  blue 
waters,  from  the  distant  tower  of  Hook.  The 
weather  had  been  calm  and  clear,  and  the  full- 
blown roses,  that  had  never  felt  a  rough  blast  or 
a  chilling  shower,  imparted  their  sweet  fragrance 
to  the  midnight  air:  the  path  by  which  Edward 
would  return  crossed  the  meadow,  and  her  heart 
bounded  when  his  figure  appeared  hastily  striding 
homewards.  "  I  hope  he  did  not  see  me,"  thought 
she,  as  she  closed  the  window :  "  yet  why  ? — 
sure  he's  my  cousin."  In  a  moment  after  the 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  235 

latch  was  lifted,  and  she  distinctly  heard  her  aunt 
say— 

"  A  purty  time  o'  night,  indeed,  for  you  to  march 
home,  Master  Edward  Cassidy ! — and  to  lave  me, 
a  poor  widow,  and  yer  own  mother,  alone  in  this 
desolate  hut." 

"  It's  a  comfortable  hut,  thin,"  replied  Edward, 
laughing.  "  And  how  are  ye  lone,  whin  there's  Lilly, 
and  Ruth — the  dirty  sowl — and  Bran,  to  say  nothin' 
of  ould  puss,  sitting  so  snug  on  the  hearthstone?" 

"  How  do  you  know  Lilly's  here  ?  It's  little  ye 
care  about  her,  or  ye'd  be  far  from  letting  that  long 
gomersal  of  a  fellow,  Harry  Connor,  see  her  home, 
and  you  flirting  off  with  that  jilting  hussey,  Katey 
Turner." 

"  Katey  Turner's  no  jilt,  or  flirt  either,  but  a  tight, 
clane-skinned  little  girl ;  and  Harry's  no  gomersal 
at  all,  but  an  honest  fellow,  that  '11  make  a  good 
husband  for  my  handsome  cousin  one  o'  these  days 
— and  not  long  neither.  What  a  wedding  we'll 
have,  for  sartin  !  " 

Poor  Lilly's  heart  sickened,  and  her  head  felt 
giddy,  as  she  heard  these  words.  She  never  in- 
tended listening,  but  her  respiration  was  impeded 
in  the  deep  anxiety  with  which  she  waited  for,  yet 
dreaded,  her  aunt's  reply.  Mrs.  Cassidy  was 
struggling  for  utterance;  she  had  seldom,  perhaps 
never,  been  so  enraged.  Ned's  words  and  perfect 
carelessness  of  manner  had  almost  maddened  her. 

"  Look  ye,  Ned — Ned  Cassidy  !  "  said  she,  after 
a  pause,  during  which  Edward  saw  the  storm  gather- 


236  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

ing  fiercely, — "  look,  I'd  sooner  see  Lilly  stretched 
on  that  table,  as  I'd  sooner  a  hundred  times,  and 
a  thousand  to  the  back  of  them,  keen  at  her  berrin', 
than  see  her  thrown  away  upon  that  ownshugh ! 
She's  for  his  betthers,  though  little  they  seem  to 
think  of  it." 

"  Whew !  whew ! — is  that  what  ye' re  after,  mother 
dear?  Well,  then,  now  I'll  jist  tell  ye  the  rights  of 
it,  and  then  we'll  drop  it  for  ever,  Amin.  As  to 
Lilly,  a  betther  girl  niver  drew  the  breath  o'  life, 
and  I  regard  and  love  her  as  a  sister,  but  as  to  any- 
thing else,  mother,  I  won't  marry — I'll  see  the  world. 
And,  anyhow,  she's  not  the  patthern  o'  the  wife  I'd 
like." 

Mrs.  Cassidy  clenched  her  fist,  and,  holding  it  close 
to  her  son's  face,  ejaculated,  "  Holy  Mary ! — ye 
born  villain  ! — ye  disobadient  spalpeen  ! — ye  limb 

o'  Satan  ! — ye  —  ye !  Down  upon  yer  bare 

knees  and  ax  my  pardon  for  crassing l  me ;  or,  by 
the  powers  !  I'll  have  Father  Mike  himself  here  to- 
morrow mornin'  and  marry  ye  out  o'  hand." 

"  I  ax  pardon  for  contradicting  ye,  mother,  but 
ye'll  do  no  sich  thing.  Say  two  words  more  like 
that,  and  the  dawn  o'  day  '11  see  me  abord  the  good 
ship  Mary,  that's  lying  off  Hook-head,  where  they'd 
be  main  glad  of  a  boy  like  me,  as  I  heard  to-night, 
to  go  a  few  voyages,  and  see  the  world." 

"  And  is  this  the  thanks  I  get  for  all  my  love,  ye 
scoundrel  ? — to  fly  in  my  face  after  that  manner  !  Ye 
may  trot  off  as  soon  as  ye  plase,  but  the  priest  shall 

1  Contradicting. 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  237 

know  yer  doings,  my  boy.  Och !  ye  ungrateful ! 

Down  this  minit,  as  I  tould  ye ;  and,  as  God  sees 
and  hears  me,  ye  shall  be  married  to  Lilly  before 
to-morrow's  sun  sets ! " 

"  I  see,  mother,  ye  don't  mane  to  listen  to  rason. 
But  one  word  for  all :  by  the  blessing  o'  God,  I'll 
not  marry  Lilly ;  and  I  don't  care  that "  (snapping 
his  fingers)  "  for  priest  or  minister !  " 

"  Take  that,  thin,  for  your  comfort,  and  my  heavy 
curse  wid  it ! "  And,  enraged  by  her  son's  so  wilfully 
destroying  the  hope  that  had  latterly  been  the  chief 
blessing  of  her  life,  in  her  fury  she  struck  him  a 
violent  blow.  Poor  Lilly  rushed  to  her  door ;  but 
her  powers  were  paralysed.  She  could  not  undo  the 
simple  fastening,  but  clung  to  the  window,  that  was 
close  to  it,  for  support.  Edward  spoke  not ;  and 
his  mother's  arm  sank  by  her  side.  Her  rage  was 
abating,  when  Edward,  bursting  with  smothered 
anger,  which  he  pent  up  with  a  strong  effort, 
deliberately  took  his  hat,  walked  to  the  door,  and 
out,  without  uttering  a  single  word.  "  Ned,  Ned  ! " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Cassidy ;  but  Ned  returned  not 
Lilly,  pale  and  wild  in  her  appearance,  in  a  few 
rooments  was  at  her  aunt's  side.  She  had  seen  the 
desperate  haste  with  which  her  cousin  crossed  the 
garden,  trampling  the  flowers  in  his  path,  and, 
alarmed  lest  his  passion  should  lead  him  to  some 
dreadful  act,  she  rushed  down  the  stairs. 

"  Oh  !  to  think,"  said  she,  "  after  yer  promise,  that 
ye  should  be  so  cruel  to  your  own  child,  and  all  for 
one  like  me!  Oh,  if  I'd  ha'  thought  it,  sure  the 


238  IRISH   LIFE  AND   CHARACTER 

grass  shouldn't  be  wet  under  my  feet  before  I'd  be 
far  from  this  house !  Oh,  call  him  back — call  him 
back  ! — and  I'll  fly  the  place  for  ever ! " 

"  He'll  come  back  fast  enough,  I'll  engage,"  said 
the  widow,  "  he's  not  sich  a  fool."  She  opened  the 
door,  and  saw  in  the  moonlight  his  receding  figure. 

"  He'll  not,  aunt.  Oh,  the  blow  ! — the  blow  ! — to 
think  of  your  striking  so  high  a  spirit,  and  that  Mary 
lying  off  Hook-head,  and  the  mate  of  her,  Katey's 
uncle,  putting  his  comether  on  Ned  !  Sure  I  saw 
it,  only  I  never  thought  it  'ud  come  to  this,  at  the 
weary  dance  to-night." 

"  Indeed  ! "  responded  the  mother,  now  really  alive 
to  the  danger  of  losing  her  son.  "  Lilly,  my  darlint, 
you  can  save  him ;  fly ! — you  can  overtake  him. 
There,  he  hasn't  turned  the  lane  yet.  Tell  him  he 
shall  do  as  he  plases ;  say  that  I  beg  his  pardon  ; 
only,  as  he  valees  his  mother's  blessing,  not  to  desart 
her  in  her  ould  age." 

Lilly  snatched  her  cloak,  drew  it  over  her  head, 
and  ran,  as  fast  as  her  strength  permitted,  after  her 
wayward  cousin,  whose  firm,  quick  step,  as  he  paced 
towards  the  main  road,  rendered  the  maiden's  fleet- 
ness  almost  ineffectual ;  but  at  length  she  stood 
panting,  almost  fainting,  at  his  side.  It  was  then  that 
a  tide  of  conflicting  feelings  deprived  her  of  utter- 
ance ;  for  the  first  time,  she  felt  herself  a  rejected, 
despised  creature,  and  that  by  the  being  a  thousand 
times  dearer  to  her  heart  than  life  itself.  When  he 
knew  that  she  had  overheard  the  dreadful  conversa- 
tion in  the  cottage,  what  must  he  think  of  her? 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  239 

Modesty,  the  sweet  blossom  of  purity,  the  mild  glory 
of  woman's  life,  had  been  outraged  by  her  pursuing, 
even  in  such  a  cause,  one  who  disdained  her ;  and, 
as  these  ideas  shot  like  fire  through  her  brain,  she 
caught  at  a  tree  for  support,  and  murmured,  "  Holy 
Mary,  direct  thy  child  ! "  Edward  spoke  not,  but 
looked  on  his  cousin  with  more  of  bitterness  and 
scorn  than  of  any  other  feeling.  Twice  she  tried 
to  speak,  but  vainly  she  unclosed  her  parched  lips. 
"  Ned,"  she  at  length  articulated,  "  you  are  going, 
I  know,  to  lave  us — her,  I  mane,  your  mother ;  and 
you  know,  Ned,  she  has  no  hope  but  you.  Oh,  Ned  ! 
Ned  ! — in  her  old  age  do  not  fly  her !  Think  o'  the 
time  when  she  carried  ye  in  sorrow  and  in  bitter 

trouble ;  think " 

"  Of  the  blow  she  gave  me ! "  interrupted  Edward 
fiercely.  "  By  all  the  holy  saints,  if  a  man,  ay,  my 
own  father,  had  dealt  so  with  me,  I'd — I'd  have 
knocked  him  down  and  ground  him  into  the  hard 
earth ! "  And  he  stamped  so  violently  that  poor 
Lilly  was  terrified  at  the  sudden  burst  of  passion. 

"  Ned,  you  know  you  have  provoked  her,  and " 

"  And  so  you,  Lilly,"  he  again  interrupted,  "  you, 
with  all  yer  modesty  and  quietness,  you  collogued 
against  me  too :  and  that's  the  upshot  of  your 
coming  among  us  !  Och !  och !  I  thought  ye  had 
a  more  dacent  spirit  than  to  follow  a  boy  to  ax  him 
to  marry  ye,  and  he  your  cousin  ! "  Lilly,  roused 
by  this  unjust  sarcasm,  was  collected  in  a  moment. 
Drawing  her  slight  yet  dignified  figure  to  its  full 
height,she  shook  her  beautiful  hair  thathad  clustered 


240  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

over  her  mournful  countenance,  and  stood  firm  and 
erect,  with  the  beams  of  the  chaste  full  moon  beam- 
ing upon  her  uncovered  head. 

"  Ye  don't  know  me,  then ;  and  I  have  lived  under 
the  same  roof  with  ye  three  years  and  more.  But 
ye  don't  know  me,  Edward  Cassidy :  if,  by  axing 
the  powerful  King  of  England,  who  sits  on  his  throne, 
to  make  me  his  queen,  it  could  be  done,  the  poor 
orphan  girl  would  scorn  it !  Lilly  O'Brien  followed 
ye  not  for  that.  The  grate  God,  that  sees  all  hearts, 
knows  that  the  words  I  spake  are  true.  Never,  till 
this  woeful  night,  did  I  think  that  yer  mother  wished 
me  to  be  nearer  to  her  than  I  am.  Ye  bitterly  wrong 
me ;  but  that's  not  what  I  came  to  say.  I  tell  ye 
that  yer  mother  begs  ye  to  come  back,  and  not  to 
trust  to  the  wild  sea,  when  every  comfort  in  life  is 
for  ye  on  land.  She  asks  ye  to  forget ;  she  even  begs 
of  ye,  for  Christ's  sake,  to  forgive  the  blow.  But  stop, 
that's  not  all :  I,  the  desolate  orphan,  who  have, 
innocent-like,  been  the  cause  of  all  this  misery — I 
beg  of  you,  you  that  so  insulted  and  wronged  me — 
and  I  do  to  you  what  I  never  did  to  any  yet,  but 
my  heavenly  comforters — on  my  two  knees,  I  beg 
ye  to  return.  Edward  Cassidy,  you  shall  see  me 
no  more.  I  have  no  other  home,  but  I  am  young, 
and,  for  a  poor  girl,  not  ignorant,  praise  be  to  your 
mother  for  it.  I  will  quit  the  house  for  ever — ay, 
before  the  sun  rises.  Do  not  let  me  feel  that  I 
have  driven  the  fatherless  boy  to  labour,  maybe  to 
ruin ! " 

She  raised  her  clasped  hands  as  she  spoke,  and 


LILLY  OBRIEN  24! 

her  eyes,  filled  with  the  pure  light  of  virtue,  met  the 
wild  gaze  of  her  cousin. 

"  Lilly,"  he  replied,  raising  her  from  the  ground 
and  looking  upon  her  more  kindly,  "things  must 
go  on  as  they  are.  What  comfort  would  my  mother 
— God  help  her ! — have  without  you  ?  I  have  been 
a  trouble  and  a  plague  to  her,  but  you  have  been 
like  an  own  tender  child,  and  smoothened  every  step. 
I'll  go  to  sea  for  a  while:  it  'ill  be  long  afore  I  can 
forget  what  she  did  to-night — whatever  divil  tempted 
us  both  to  sich  anger  !  I'll  be  well  to  do  in  the  same 
ship  wid  Katey's  uncle,  and  ye'll  all  be  glad  to  see 
me,  maybe,  whin  I  come  back.  And,  Lilly,  I  ax 
yer  pardon  for  saying  the  say  I  did  of  you  :  it  wasn't 
from  the  heart,  only  the  temper.  I  do  know  ye 
betther :  and  my  friend,  Harry  Connor,  'ill  be  a 
happy  man  yet,  if  ye'll  only  jist  give  him  that  young 
heart  that's  as  innocent  as  a  new-born  babe.  And 
now,  God  be  wid  ye !  The  Mary  may  sail  at  day- 
break. God  bless  ye  ! " 

The  heedless  youth  hastened  on. 

"  Oh,  Ned,  Ned  ! — and  won't  ye  say  a  word,  or 
even  make  a  sign,  that  I  may  tell  yer  mother  all 
is  peace  ?  "  He  stopped  and  waved  his  hat  over  his 
head,  and  the  belting  of  many  foliage  trees  that 
enclosed  Mr.  Herriott's  estate  hid  him  from  her  sight. 
Tears  came  to  her  relief,  and  she  felt  happy  that 
Edward  did  not  suspect  how  dearly  she  loved  him. 
She  turned  homeward  with  a  sorrowing  heart,  and 
was  proceeding  slowly  on,  when  Peggy  the  Fisher's 
little  black  dog,  Coal  (we  beg  his  pardon  for  not 
16 


242  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

mentioning  the  very  busy,  ugly  little  gentleman 
before),  ran  out  of  a  break  in  the  adjoining  hedge, 
and  renewed  his  acquaintance  with  Lilly,  by  jump- 
ing and  whining  in  that  peculiar  tone  which  shows 
a  more  than  friendly  recognition.  Lilly  was  aston- 
ished, but  still  more  so  when  the  flattened  hat  and 
round  rosy  face  of  Peggy  appeared  through  the 
same  opening. 

"  Why,  then,  Miss  Lilly  dear,  is  it  yer  fetch  ? — 
or  where  are  ye  moving  along,  like  a  fairy  queen, 
in  the  green  meadows  by  the  moonlight?  Ah, 
gramachree!"  she  continued,  forcing  her  way 
through  the  hedge,  "ye  look  like  a  spirit,  sure 
enough  !  My  poor  colleen  !  Sorrow  soon  withers 
the  likes  o'  you." 

Lilly  felt  sadly  mortified,  for  she  had  little  doubt 
that  Peggy  had  overheard  the  conversation  between 
her  and  Edward. 

"  So  he's  gone,  the  obstinate  mule  ! — but  I  ax 
your  pardon.  I  hard  every  word  of  it,  over  the 
hedge,  just  by  accident,  as  a  body  may  say;  for 
you  see,  mavourneen,  I  was  waiting  for  a  particklar 
frind  that  promised  to  meet  me  about  a  little  bit  o' 
business  that  can't  just  be  done  by  daylight,  on 
account  of  the  law.  Och !  it's  hard  for  a  lone  woman 
to  get  a  bit  o'  dacent  bread  ;  and  the  free  rovers 
themselves  are  getting  so  'cute  that  there's  no  coming 
up  to  thim  at  all,  at  all !  But  I'm  keeping  ye  here, 
and  the  poor  woman  '11  be  half  mad  till  she  hears 
tidings  o'  Ned,  the  boy.  I'll  walk  a  step  wid  ye, 
and  be  back  time  enough  yet.  God  help  me,  I 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  243 

must  travel  to  Hook  and  Ballyhack  too,  the  morrow 
mornin'.  Och !  but  it's  hard  to  'arn  an  honest 
penny  in  this  wicked  world."  And  the  lady 
smuggler  crossed  herself  very  devoutly. 

"  Hook !  are  ye  going  to  Hook  to-morrow 
mornin'  ?  "  inquired  Lilly. 

"  Plase  God,  I'll  do  that  same." 

"  Oh,  Peggy,  thin,  it  would  be  an  act  o'  charity 
just  to  take  Ned  some  o'  his  bits  o'  clothes  and 
things.  If  he  will  go,  sure  he  ought  to  go  dacent. 
And  I'll  make  up  the  bundle  for  him,  and  lave  it 
under  the  black  thorn,  in  an  hour  or  two ;  for  I'll 
try  and  get  her  to  bed — the  Lord  console  her ! — 
and  steal  them  out  like,  for  I  know  she'll  be  too 
angry  to  send  him  any  comfort  yet  a  bit,  and  the 
ship  may  sail  before  she  comes  to  herself." 

"  Why,  thin,  that's  wise  and  good,  the  colleen 
'gra !  But  sure  you're  the  last  that  ought  to  grieve 
after  the  boy  ;  it  '11  be  well  for  you,  for  sartin.  The 
old  woman  has  all  in  her  own  power — and  sure  it's 
to  the  one  that  bides  with  her  she'll  lave  it.  Mind 
yer  hits,  and " 

"  What  d'ye  mane  by  spakeing  to  me  after  that 
fashion  ? "  said  Lilly,  darting  a  look  of  anger  on 
her  companion,  which,  if  Peggy  could  have  seen, 
she  must  have  felt.  "  How  d'ye  think  I  could  get 
such  bitter  black  blood  in  my  veins  as  to  plan  such 
divil's  mischief  as  that  ?  Keep  that  sort  of  advice 
for  thim  that  '11  put  up  with  it!  Lilly  O'Brien 
scorns  it." 

"  Hullabullo !    there  we  go !     Well,  if  ye're  so 


244  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

wrapt  up  in  thim  that  doesn't  care  a  skreed  for  ye, 
why,  ye'd  betther  just  go  to  the  fairy  woman  and 
get  a  charm,  and  bring  him  back,  my  purty  Miss." 

"I'll  tell  ye  what,  Peggy:  I  don't  meddle  or 
make  with  anybody,  and  nobody  need  meddle  or 
make  with  me;  nobody  can  say  agin  my  liking 
my  cousin — and  why  not?  My  aunt  meant  all 
kindly  to  both ;  but  the  thorns  are  sown  and  grown, 
and  sure  it's  heart  sorrow  to  think  o'  his  flitting 
from  his  own  home;  but  if  he  was  willin'  this 
minute  to  take  me  afore  the  priest,  d'ye  think  I'd 
have  the  hand  and  not  the  heart  ?  Fairy  woman, 
indeed  !  I've  no  belief  in  such  nonsense." 

"  Oh,  to  hear  how  she  spakes  o'  the  good  people, 
and  the  very  spot  we're  in,  maybe — Lord  save  us  ! 
—full  o'  thim !  Well,  there's  the  house— I'll  take 
the  bundle  safe,  agra."  She  stopped  for  a  moment 
to  watch  Lilly  enter  the  cottage,  and  then  muttered, 
"  I  can't  make  her  out ;  she's  either  a  born  nathural, 
or  something  much  above  the  common." 

Lilly  O'Brien  found  it  a  painful  duty  to  ad- 
minister consolation,  where  she  herself  so  much 
needed  it ;  but,  after  all,  continual  employment  is 
the  best  balm  to  the  sorrowing  mind.  Save  that 
her  cheek  was  somewhat  paler  and  her  gentle 
smiles  less  frequent,  six  months  had  made  little 
change  in  my  sweet  Lilly's  appearance.  Not  so 
was  it,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  with  Mrs.  Cassidy,  poor 
woman  !  She  felt  her  son's  desertion,  as  a  mother 
only  can  feel;  but  still  more  she  grieved  when 
week  after  week  passed,  and  the  Bannow  postman 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  245 

brought  no  letter  from  the  wandering  boy.  Post 
evenings  found  her  at  the  end  of  the  lane  that  led 
to  her  cottage,  anxiously  watching  John  Williams's 
approach.  Still,  no  letter  cheered  her  broken,  rest- 
less spirit ;  though  she  would  never  confess  that  she 
wandered  forth  on  this  errand,  every  Monday  and 
Friday  found  her  on  the  same  spot,  and  she  was 
on  those  days  more  bustling  and  fidgety  than 
usual.  Sometimes  she  would  abuse  the  absent  one 
in  no  gentle  terms ;  but  Lilly  never  failed  to 
remember  some  kind  act  of  her  cousin's,  and  her 
low  musical  voice,  in  the  soft  tones  of  unaffected 
feeling,  was  ever  ready  to  plead  for  him.  At  other 
periods  the  widow  would  weep  like  a  child  over 
some  little  circumstance  that  brought  Ned  to  her 
recollection.  The  flowers  he  planted  blossomed — 
the  beehives  he  had  watched  wanted  thatching — or 
the  table  he  had  made  lost  its  leg — or  the  pig 
wanted  ringing.  Lilly  never  mentioned  him,  except 
when  her  aunt  led  to  it,  but  her  eyelids  were  often 
heavy  with  tears. 

Luckily  for  all  parties,  an  event  occurred  that 
fully  employed,  for  the  time,  my  worthy  old  friend's 
thoughts  and  actions. 

The  windmill,  that,  from  the  landlord's  depending 
on  the  steward  to  get  it  repaired — from  the  steward's 
depending  on  the  mason  to  see  to  it — from  the 
mason's  depending  on  the  thatcher — the  thatcher 
on  the  carpenter — the  carpenter  on  somebody,  or 
nobody,  or  anybody  but  himself  (after  the  true 
Irish  fashion) — the  windmill,  Mrs.  Cassidy's  par- 


246  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

ticular  aversion — the  windmill ! — that  had  suffered 
a  paralysis  for  more  than  five  years,  although 
everybody  said  how  useful  it  could  be  made — the 
windmill  was  repaired,  furnished  with  new  wings, 
and  commenced  operations  within  the  short  space 
of  three  weeks,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  natives, 
who  (I  must  confess  it,  however  unwillingly)  are  like 
all  the  men  and  women  of  their  country,  the  most 
procrastinating  race  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Mrs. 
Cassidy  was  annoyed  beyond  measure.  The  quern 
was  kept  in  constant  motion,  and  Lilly  was  left  at 
home  in  "  pace  and  quietness,"  while  her  aunt  sidled 
from  house  to  house,  exhibiting  specimens  of  the 
flour  ground  in  her  own  cottage,  and  contrasting 
it  with  what  he  stermed  "  the  coorse  trash  o'  branny 
stuff,  made  up  o'  what  not,  that  comes  out  o'  that 
grinder  a'  top  o'  the  hill." 

Mrs.  Cassidy  was  from  home ;  Lilly  had  finished 
her  allotted  portion  of  flour,  and  was  quietly  prepar- 
ing the  frugal  supper,  when  our  old  acquaintance, 
Peggy  the  Fisher,  and  Peggy's  little  dog,  Coal, 
entered  the  cottage.  Lilly  had  never  forgotten  the 
low  cunning  the  Fisher  had  evinced  on  the  evening, 
every  transaction  of  which  she  so  perfectly — too 
perfectly — remembered,  and  her  pale  cheek  flushed, 
and  a  shadow  passed  over  her  brow,  as  she  returned 
the  greeting  of  the  village  busybody. 

"  I'm  not  for  staying ;  maybe  I'm  not  over 
welcome,  Miss  Lilly — but  never  mind,  agra  !  Whin 
people's  angry  wid  people,  and  all  for  good  advice, 
given  from  the  heart,  and  wid  good  intintion  all 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  247 

through — why,  people  must  only  put  up  vvid  it  until 
oder  people  see  the  rights  o'  it.  Well,  my  dear 
young  cratur,  it's  little  ye  knows  o'  the  world  yet : 
ah !  it's  a  bad  world  for  a  dacent  poor  lone  woman 
to  get  a  bit  o'  bread  in.  But  sure  you'll  not  be  lone 
in  it ;  I  see  a  handsome  boy  not  tin  minutes  agone, 
that  'ud  give  his  best  eye — and,  troth,  it  'ud  be 
hard  to  choose  betwixt  'em — for  one  look  of  love 
from  ye,  as  I  hard  him  say,  many's  the  day  ago, 
with  my  own  two  ears." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,  Peggy,  if  what  you  say  is 
true ;  for  no  one  in  the  wide  world  do  I  love,  barring 
my  own  poor  aunt." 

"  Asy,  child  !  Sure  I'm  not  axing  ye  any  ques- 
tions— only  it's  long,  maybe,  since  ye  hard  from 
beyant  seas  ?  " 

"  My  aunt  has  never  heard  from  Ned  since  he 
quitted,"  replied  Lilly. 

"  Well,  maybe,  so  best.  No  news  is  good  news, 
they  say." 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Now,  what  'ud  ye  say  to  a  poor  body  that  'ud 
tell  ye  something  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Lilly ;  "  it  would 
depend  on  what  that  something  was." 

"  Well,  thin,  here  it  is  ; "  and  Peggy  drew  a  dirty, 
sailor-like  letter  from  her  bosom,  and  placed  it  in 
Lilly's  outstretched  hand.  "  There,  my  colleen  'gra ! 
— it's  from  Ned,  sure  enough ;  and  for  yourself. 
One  who  brought  it  tould  me,  for  I've  no  laming, — 
how  should  a  lone  cratur  like  me  get  it !  But  it's 


248  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

little  ye'll  like  the  news  that's  in  it ;  and  I  don't 
know  how  the  ould  'ooman  'ill  like  it,  at  all  at  all." 
Lilly  stood  unable  to  inquire,  unable  to  open  the 
letter  she  had  so  long  wished  for.  Peggy,  with  her 
usual  sagacity,  saw  the  dilemma,  and,  settling  the 
basket  on  her  head,  departed,  with  "  God  be  wid  ye, 
mavourneen  !  "  Lily  broke  the  wafer  with  trembling 
hand,  and  read  as  follows  : — 

"DEAR  COUSIN, — This  comes  hoping  you  and 
my  mother  is  well,  as  I  am  at  present — thanks  be 
to  God  for  the  same! — and  likes  the  sea;  but  the 
land,  somehow,  is  a  saferrer  life ;  particular  for  a 
family  man,  as  I  am,  having  married  out  o'  love  a 
girl  I'm  not  ashamed  of;  an  English  born  and  bred, 
and  well  iddicated  and  mannered  as  need  be  for  a 
boy  like  me.  I'd  have  written  afore,  but  didn't 
know  how  it  'ud  end,  as  I  was  terrible  in  love.  And 
now  I  ax  my  mother's  blessing.  And,  Lilly  dear, 
it's  you  that  can  get  that  for  me ;  and  I  know  ye'll 
do  your  best  to  make  things  comfortable.  I'm  sorry 
mother  and  I  parted  in  anger ;  but  it  will  be  all  for 
the  best  in  regard  of  the  wife.  And  I  intind  bring- 
ing her  home  to  ye,  and  we'll  all  be  happy  thegither 
agin,  plase  God ;  and  I'm  detarmined  my  child 
sha'n't  be  an  Englishman,  so  I  mean  my  mother  to 
be  a  grandmother  soon,  and  ax  her  to  love  Lucy — 
she's  handsomer  than  her  name,  and  had  a  good 
penny  o'  money  too,  only  it's  clane  gone ;  things 
are  dreadful  dear  here ;  and  I  know  you'll  love  her, 
for  you  were  always  kind.  And  I  beg  you  to  write 
by  return  of  post,  and  send  a  trifle  o'  money ;  as, 
for  the  credit  o'  my  people,  I'd  like  to  return  home 
dacent.  Lucy  joins  me  in  love  and  duty ;  and  trust- 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  249 

ing  to  yer  good  word,  rests  your  affictionate  friend 
and  cousin  till  death,  E.  CASSIDY." 

Lilly  sat  long  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  letter. 
She  did  not  weep ;  but  her  cheek  was  ashy  pale, 
and  her  eyes  were  swollen.  Poor  girl ! — she  had 
used  her  best  efforts  to  root  love  from  her  heart,  or 
to  calm  it  into  that  friendship  which  she  considered 
duty;  yet  the  shock  she  received,  when  the  full 
truth  was  known,  that  Edward  was  actually  married, 
and  returning  with  his  wife  to  Bannovv,  was  almost 
too  great  for  her  to  bear.  She  read  the  letter  over 
and  over  again,  and  at  last  sank  on  her  knees, 
earnestly  imploring  God  to  direct  and  keep  her  in 
the  right  way.  She  arose,  strengthened  and  re- 
freshed by  the  pious  exercise,  and  her  pure  and 
noble  mind  saw  at  once  the  course  that  was  to  be 
pursued.  Then  she  reflected  on  her  plan.  Her  aunt, 
she  knew,  would  be  terribly  enraged  at  his  marrying 
at  all.  But  an  Englishwoman — a  Protestant,  most 
likely — it  was  dreadful ! 

"  Lilly,  my  darlint,  what  are  ye  in  such  a  study 
about  ?  "  said  the  old  woman,  as  she  entered.  "  I've 

good  news  for  ye.  That  vagabone  mill but 

save  us ! — why,  ye're  like  one  struck ! — has  any- 
thing turned  contrary  ?  It's  not  post-night,  nor 

What  ails  ye,  child  ?  Can't  ye  spake  at  onct  ?  " 

"  Sit  down,  aunt  dear.  There's  a  letter  from  Ned, 
and  he's  alive  and  well." 

"  Thank  God  for  all  His  mercies  to  me  and  mine ! 
Well,  child  ? " 


250  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"And  he's  tired  o'  the  sea,  and  coming  home; 
and  sure  ye'll  resave  him  kindly,  aunt  ?  " 

"  The  cratur !  and  sure  I  will — why  not  ?  Sure 
it  was  only  a  boy's  wildness  after  all.  Resave  him  ! 
after  not  setting  my  two  eyes  upon  him  for  a 
whole  tin  months  !  Sure  I  will — and  he'll  like  home 
all  the  betther  !  Och,  I'm  so  happy ! "  The  poor 
woman  threw  her  arms  around  Lilly's  neck  and 
kissed  her  affectionately.  "  But  what  makes  ye 
look  so  grave,  my  own  colleen,  that  '11  be  my 
raal " 

"  Hush !  whist !  for  God's  sake,  my  dear,  dear,  dear 
aunt ! "  And  Lilly  fell  on  her  knees.  "  Aunt  dear, 
the  night  you  and  Ned  had  the  bitter  battle,  ye 
promised  me  ye  would  not  vex  him,  yet  ye  did." 

"Well,  agra?" 

"Well,  ye  say  the  same  thing  now;  and  yet 
maybe  ye'd  do  the  same  thing  agin,  for  all  that ! " 

"  Well,  Lilly  darlint,  there's  no  dread  in  life  of 
it  now,  I  am  so  continted.  But  where's  the  letter  ? 
Read  me  the  letter.  I  knew  he'd  come  back  ;  I " 

"  Aunt,  I  humbly  ax  yer  pardon ;  have  I,  since 
Ned  left  ye,  ever  angered  ye  ?  " 

"  Never,  my  colleen." 

"Then  grant  me  this  one  prayer — maybe  the 
last  I'll  ever  ax  ye,  aunt ! — swear,  by  this  blessed 
Book,  never  to  reproach  Ned  with  anything  that  is 
gone  and  past,  but  to  take  him  to  your  own  fond 
heart,  and  trate  him  as  a  son  for  ever." 

"  It's  a  quare  humour,  my  darlint,  but  I  can't 
refuse  ye  anything  to-night,  I'm  so  happy  ;  and 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  251 

the  letther  to  you  and  all,  as  fitting ! "  She  took 
the  Prayer  Book  in  her  hand.  "  To  swear  to  forget 
all  that's  past,  is  it,  mavourneen? — and  to  trate 
him " 

"  Say,  him  and  his — him  and  his,"  interrupted 
Lilly  breathlessly. 

"  That  I  will,"  replied  Mrs.  Cassidy,  "  and  with 
all  the  veins  of  my  heart ;  to  forget  all  that's  past, 
and  trate  him  and  his  with  love  and  kindness  to 
the  end  of  my  days." 

She  kissed  the  cross  on  the  page  of  the  Prayer 
Book,  after  the  manner  of  her  religion,  and  was 
going  to  do  the  same  to  Lilly's  fair  forehead,  when 
she  ejaculated,  "  Thank  God  ! "  and  fainted  in  her 
aunt's  arms.  She  remained  long  insensible,  and 
when  the  kind  woman's  efforts  succeeded  in  restor- 
ing her  the  first  words  the  poor  girl  heard  were : 
"  That's  my  darlint  child  ! — rouse  up ;  there,  lane 
your  head  on  my  shoulder.  No  wonder,  agra !  he'd 
think  o'  those  curls,  and  that  gentle  face,  and  that 
sweet  voice  that  falls  upon  the  ear  widout  ever 
disturbing  it !  Oh,  sure  ye'll  be  my  raal  child  !  I 
see  it  all ;  fitting,  to  be  sure,  that  the  letther  should 
be  to  you.  Sure  he  could  not  but  remimber  my 
darlint  Lilly  !  Och,  but  I'm  the  happiest  woman 
this  minit  in  the  big  world,  let  t'other  be  who  she 
will!" 

A  loud  and  heavy  groan,  as  if  the  last  effort  of 
a  bursting  heart,  which  the  maiden  could  not  sup- 
press, stayed  the  old  woman's  speech,  and  fixed  her 
attention  again  on  Lilly's  ghastly  features.  "  Tell 


252  IRISH   LIFE   AND   CHARACTER 

me  directly,  this  minit,  my  brother's  own  child — 
tell  me,  is  there  anything  in  that  letther  you've  not 
told  me,  as  you  wish  to  be  happy !  Is  Ned  coming 
home  ?  "  Lilly  moved  her  head  in  assent.  "  Is  he 
well  and  happy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  aunt,  yes." 

"  Then,  in  holy  Peter's  name,  my  lanna,  what  is 
it  ails  ye  ?  Sure  I  see  long  enough  ago  that  ye 
loved  him  in  yer  heart's  core,  and  now — praise  be 
to  God!— whin  ye'll  be  married,  and  my  heart  at 
pace,  ye're  taking  on  as  if  the  boy  was  kilt  entirely  ! 
Sure,  whin  ye're  married " 

"  Aunt,  for  the  blessed  Virgin's  sake,  name  that 
last  no  more,  for  it  can't  be  ! " 

"  Don't  dare  to  tell  me  that,  unless  ye  mane  to 
start  the  life  out  o'  me  at  onct !  Lilly,  Lilly  !  sure, 
girl,  ye've  not  been  listening  to  Harry,  and  promised 
unknownst  to  me,  out  o'  maidenly  anger  with  Ned  ? 
If  ye  marry  Harry  Connor,  Lilly,  ye'll  sup  sorrow; 
for  it's  folly  to  talk,  child — yer  heart's  not  in  it." 

"  I'll  never  marry  either  Ned  or  Harry,  aunt,  so 
don't  mintion  it." 

"The  girl's  gone  mad,  clane  mad,"  said  Mrs 
Cassidy  angrily.  "  Why,  what's  to  put  betwixt  you 
and  Ned  now  ?  " 

"  His  wife  ! "  replied  Lilly  solemnly,  and  for  the 
first  time  pronouncing  the  word  which  banished 
every  lingering  hope  from  her  heart, — "  his  lawful 
wife ;  who,"  she  added,  "  though  born  in  a  far 
counthry,  will  make  ye  a  good  daughter  and  a 
loving  one  when  I  lave  ye." 


LILLY   OBRIEN  253 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  terrific 
rage  of  Mrs.  Cassidy  when  informed  of  all  the 
particulars.  Even  her  noble-minded  niece  suffered 
from  it ;  for  when,  forgetful  of  her  oath,  she  declared 
Ned  and  his  heretic  wife  should  never  find  refuge 
in  her  house,  "  Remember,"  Lilly  would  say,  and  as 
she  spoke  the  large  tears  would  shower  down  her 
cheeks,  "  you  swore  on  the  blessed  Book  to  forget 
the  past,  and  to  trate  him  and  his  with  kindness  to 
the  end  of  yer  days."  Then  Mrs.  Cassidy  reproached 
Lilly  with  "  colloguing  "  against  her  ;  with  "  joining 
the  whole  world  to  make  her  desolate " ;  with 
"  breaking  her  ould  heart,"  and  "  splitting  it  into 
smithereens."  Then  she  raved  about  Ned  and 
his  strange  wife,  and  concluded  with — "  I'll  bet  my 
life  she's  no  betther  nor  she  should  be." 

"  Oh,  aunt,  how  can  ye  say  such  a  word  !  D'ye 
think  Ned  'ud  be  the  boy  to  bring  black  shame  to 
his  mother's  hearthstone  ?  Oh  no  !  Protestant  she 
is — and  English — and  all  that — but  not  bad ;  don't 
think  that,  anyhow." 

"Well,  anyhow,  Lilly,  if  a  boy  sarved  me  as 
you've  been  sarved,  I'd  skiver  his  heart  to  his  back- 
bone. I  wish  ye  had  a  betther  spirit  in  ye." 

Lilly  replied  not,  but  heartily  rejoiced  when  the 
good  lady's  anger  and  repinings  were  hushed  in  a 
sound  sleep.  She  entered  her  own  room,  and 
counted  over  her  savings,  for  Mrs.  Cassidy  had  ever 
given  more  than  supplied  her  wants.  She  had 
hoarded,  not  from  selfishness,  but  from  a  feeling 
of  generosity,  that  she  might  have  the  means  of 


254  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

assisting  some  of  her  poorer  neighbours ;  and  this 
she  had  often  done.  With  her  hands,  as  well  as 
with  her  money,  had  she  bestowed  cleanliness  and 
comfort  to  many  a  neighbour's  cottage.  Her  little 
store  only  amounted  to  three  one-pound  notes  and 
a  few  shillings ;  the  former  she  carefully  wrapped  up, 
and  wrote  as  follows  to  her  cousin : — 

"DEAR  NED, — I  could  not  ask  yer  mother  to 
send  you  much  money  now,  and  I  think  she'd  just 
as  soon,  when  ye  come,  that  ye  didn't  mention  it 
at  all  having  resaved  it,  because  it's  so  little,  on 
account  o'  Lady-day  being  nigh  at  hand,  and  the 
rent  to  make  up,  and  money  not  plenty ;  and  will 
be  glad  to  get  ye  back,  and  the  young  woman  that's 
my  cousin  now,  too.  My  aunt's  angry  yet,  but 
she'll  soon  come  about.  Let  me  know  aforehand 
the  day  we  may  expect  ye ;  and,  with  prayers  that 
Heaven  may  rain  down  blessings  on  you  and  yours, 
I  rest,  your  sincere  well-wisher  and  cousin, 

Inside,  three  pounds.  LILLY  O'BRIEN." 

The  early  grey  of  morning  saw  Lilly  pattering 
along  the  seashore  in  search  of  Peggy  the  Fisher. 
This  busy  woman  often  lodged  at  a  little  cottage 
near  the  cliffs,  that  belonged  to  one  Daniel 
M'Cleary,  a  man  of  doubtful  character,  as  re- 
garded the  revenue.  Lilly  thought  it  not  unlikely 
that  Peggy  would  be  there,  so  towards  it  she 
directed  her  steps.  The  sun  had  not  even  tinged 
the  eastern  clouds  with  his  earliest  rays,  and  the 
ocean  rolled  in  heavy  masses  of  leaden-coloured 
billows  towards  the  shore,  save  where,  here  and 


LILLY  OBRIEN  255 

there,  amid  the  mistiness  of  morning,  a  fantastic 
rock,  rooted  in  the  "  vasty  deep,"  raised  its  dark 
head,  prouder  even  than  the  proud  waves  that 
foamed  for  a  moment  angrily  at  its  base,  and  then 
passed  on.  The  cabin  she  sought  was  so  miserable 
that  its  mud  walls  and  blackened  thatch,  overgrown 
with  lichens  and  house-leek,  were  hardly  dis- 
tinguishable from  the  long  fern  and  bulrush  that 
grew  round  it ;  it  rested  against  (indeed,  one  of  its 
sides  was  part  of)  a  huge  mound  of  mingled  rock 
and  yellow  clay;  and  at  spring-tides  the  sea 
advanced  so  very  near  that  the  neighbours  won- 
dered M'Cleary  remained  there.  There  were  two 
paths  approaching  this  hovel — one  from  the  country 
across  the  marshy  moor  that  stretched  in  front, 
the  other  from  the  cliffs  which  partly  overshadowed 
it.  Lilly  pursued  the  latter,  but  was  a  good  deal 
surprised  at  observing  a  very  dark  cloud  of  smoke 
issuing  from  an  aperture  in  the  roof  which  consti- 
tuted a  chimney.  She  went  on,  looking  at  the 
smoke  and  endeavouring  to  guess  its  cause,  when 
suddenly  she  felt  her  footing  give  way,  and  almost 
at  the  same  moment  discovered  she  had  fallen  into 
an  excavation,  not  deep,  but  extensive.  Before  she 
had  time  to  look  around  her,  the  exclamation  of 
"Tunder  and  turf!  what  divil  brought  ye  here?" 
from  the  lips  of  Peggy  herself,  astonished  Lilly 
beyond  conception.  Ere  she  could  reply,  three  or 
four  wild-looking  men,  not  one  of  whom  she  recog- 
nised, gathered  round  her :  the  red,  flickering  light 
given  by  a  peat  and  furze  fire  and  a  few  miserable 


256  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

candles  stuck  without  any  apparent  fastening 
against  the  clayey  walls,  the  heaps  of  grain  piled 
to  the  very  roof,  the  blackened  iron  pots  of  all 
sizes,  dirty  tin  machines,  such  as  she  had  never  be- 
fore seen,  and,  above  all,  the  smell  of  turf  and 
whisky,  convinced  poor  Lilly  that  she  had  tumbled 
into  an  illicit  distillery,  the  existence  of  which, 
although  within  half  a  mile  of  her  own  home,  she 
had  never  suspected. 

"  Peg,  ye  ould  cat,  ye've  sould  the  pass  on  us  !  " 
exclaimed  one  of  the  men,  whose  bare  sinewy  arms 
and  glaring  eyes  told  both  of  strength  and  violence. 

"  Look  out,  Jack,  for  God's  sake ! "  whispered 
another ;  "  who  knows  but  the  young  one  has  a 
troop  o'  red-coats  at  her  heels ! " 

"  Divil  drive  'em ! "  said  a  ferocious-looking 
fellow,  with  a  pitchfork  ;  "  we're  done  up  fairly  now, 
and  there's  nothin'for  it  but  to  skiver  the  both,  and 
then  jist  trate  'em  to  a  could  bath  this  fine  mornin'." 

"  What's  the  row  ?  "  inquired  Daniel  M'Cleary, 
himself  coming  forward.  "  Hey,  powers  above  !  ye 
ould  traitor  ! "  (turning  to  Peggy,  who  stood  with  her 
arms  folded,  and  managed  to  hold  her  tongue  for  a 
time),  "  is  it  you  that  brought  Miss  Lilly  here  ? — 
we're  ruinated.  Och !  Peggy,  Peggy,  to  think  ye'd 
turn  informer ! " 

"Me — is  it  me? — ye  lying  vagabond! — Me? — 
Ye  desarve  to  be  briled  alive  !  To  be  scalded  to 
death  in  yer  own  potteen  'ud  be  too  dacent  a  death 
for  ye.  Me,  an  informer ! — the  back  o'  my  hand  to 
ye,  Dan  M'Cleary,  for  ever,  Amin.  As  for  you, 


LILLY   OBRIEN  2$/ 

Mick  Doole,"  and,  as  she  spoke,  she  placed  her 
arms  akimbo,  and  advanced  to  the  knight  of  the 
pitchfork  :  "  you  were  niver  good — egg  nor  bird — 
nor  niver  will  be,  plase  God.  And  as  to  skivering, 
Mick  Doole,  maybe  ye'll  be  skivered  or  worse, 
as  nate  as  a  Michaelmas  goose,  yerself,  afore 
long,  only  I  scorn  to  talk  o'  sich  things.  Paddy 
Leary!  oh,  it's  you  that's  the  brave  man;  look 
out  for  the  red-coats.  Ah !  ah !  ah !  fait,  and  it 
'ud  be  good  fun  to  see  that  innocent  young  crathur 
marching  at  the  head  of  a  rigiment,  after  yer  bits  o' 
stills,  that,  it's  my  thought,  she  knew  nothin'  about 
till  this  blissid  minit !  Sure  it's  myself  was  struck, 
to  see  her  tumbling  upon  a  hape  o'  barley,  through 
the  black  roof,  like  a  snowball.  Spake  out,  my 
lannan  !  Sure  ye  niver  did  that  ye'd  be  ashamed 
to  tell,  and  that's  what  none  here  can  say  but  yer- 
self." 

"  Ay,"  added  the  first  speaker,  "  we'll  listen  to 
rason." 

"  For  the  first  time  in  yer  life,  thin,"  muttered 
Peggy. 

"  You  gave  me  a  letter  last  night,"  and  Lilly 
turned  to  the  Fisher  as  she  spoke. 

"  True  for  ye :  it  was  he,"  pointing  to  M'Cleary, 
"  brought  it  from  Watherford." 

"  It  required  a  quick  answer.  I  couldn't  get 
John  Williams  to  take  it,  by  rason  he  doesn't  go 
till  to-morrow ;  and  I  thought  that  you,  Peggy,  'ud 
be  on  the  trot  somewhere  near  a  post,  so  I  wrote 
it  last  night,  and  thinking  ye'd  put  up  at  Dan 


258  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

deary's,  'cause  ye  often  do,  I  came  early  to  try, 
for  fear  I'd  miss  of  ye ;  and  ill-luck  sent  me  the  cliff 
path,  and  all  of  a  sudden  I  fell  into  this  wild  place 
— out  o'  which  the  Lord  will,  I  hope,  deliver  the  poor 
orphan  in  safety." 

Lilly's  tall,  slight  figure  and  flowing  hair  con- 
trasted with  the  stout  form  of  the  Fisher,  who 
stood  a  little  in  front,  the  rosary  and  a  cross 
hanging  from  the  arm  which  retained  its  akimbo 
position,  while  the  scarlet  kerchief  that  confined 
her  grizzled  locks  fell,  like  a  cowl,  from  the  back 
of  her  head,  and  fully  exposed  her  large  bronzed 
features,  which  showed  in  strong  relief  as  the 
light  from  the  crackling  fire  flashed  occasionally 
on  them.  Mick  Doole,  large  and  bony  enough 
for  one  of  the  ancient  inhabitants  of  the  Giant's 
Causeway,  leaning  on  his  pitchfork,  and  looking  as  if 
the  roof  rested  upon  his  huge  black  head,  towering 
over  both  Paddy  Leary  and  Daniel,  who,  stand- 
ing at  either  side  of  the  colossus,  formed  another 
group ;  while  some  three  or  four  beings,  indescribable 
as  to  shape  and  features,  because  they  were  covered 
with  dirt  and  encompassed  in  an  atmosphere  of 
smoke  and  steam,  filled  up  the  background. 

"  If  ye  came  wid  a  letther,  where  is  it  ?  "  inquired 
one  of  the  party. 

Lilly  drew  it  from  her  bosom,  and  presented  it 
to  the  querist.  He  turned  it  over  and  over,  and 
then,  observing  quietly,  "  The  smoke  blinds  me  so 
I  can't  read,"  handed  it  to  Daniel  M'Cleary. 

"  Well,  that's  good  enough  too,"  said  Peggy.     "  I 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  259 

niver  heard  tell  yet  of  man  or  woman  who  could 
read  widout  knowing  B  from  a  bull's  fut." 

"  It's  right  enough  after  all,"  observed  Daniel, 
"  for  I  know  this  is  for  the  boy  I  brought  the  letther 
from — not  from  him  straight,  only  from  one  that 
knows  him.  There's  something  inside  it?" 

The  idea  that  M'Cleary  might  extract  the  money 
crossed  Lilly's  mind,  but  only  for  a  moment,  and 
she  replied,  "  Yes,  three  pounds." 

"  And  I'm  the  one  that'll  put  it  safe  into  Taghmon, 
my  jewel,  afore  twelve  this  blissid  day  !  "  exclaimed 
Peggy,  taking  possession  of  the  letter. 

"  Well,  ye  didn't  go  to  come  here  as  a  spy,  Miss 
Lilly,  and  I  ax  your  pardon  for  suspicting  ye; 
but  upon  my  troth  it's  dangerous,  now  ye  know  our 
sacret,  to  let  ye  go.  Who'll  go  bail  for  ye  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  said  Peggy. 

"  Your  bail  won't  do,  ye  cross  divil,"  replied 
Paddy  Leary. 

"  Mine  will,  then,"  said  a  stout,  middle-sized  man 
coming  from  amid  the  distant  group.  "  I've  been 
watching  ye  all  this  tin  minutes,  ye  cowardly  set — 
and  it's  no  joke  to  be  frightening  the  Bannow  Lilly 
after  that  fashion,  ye  bag  of  weasels  !  My  colleen 
never  mind.  Ay,  whin  '  rattling  Jimmy  'goes  bail 
who  grumbles  ?  "  Certainly  they  all  appeared  quite 
satisfied.  "  Sure,"  he  continued,  "  only  you've  no 
gumption,  ye'd  know  that  the  kind  heart  is  niver 
mane.  Why,  look  at  her  !  D'ye  think  sich  as  she 
'ud  condescind  to  inform  on  yer  potteen  ?  Ah ! 
ye  don't  know  her  as  I  do." 


260  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  I  never  saw  ye  before !  "  exclaimed  Lilly. 

"  What,  not  the  lame  bocher,  that  had  lost  the 
use  of  a  leg,  and  was  blind  of  an  eye,  all  from 
lightning  on  the  salt  sea?"  and  he  imitated  the 
voice  and  halt  of  a  beggar  to  perfection.  "  'Twas 
a  cold  night,  but  ye  made  me  very  comfortable, 
Miss  Lilly ;  and  don't  ye  remimber  the  madman 
that  frightened  ye  down  the  park,  where  ye  were 
spreading  the  clothes  to  dry,  last  summer  ?  I  was 
sorry  to  frighten  ye,  dear;  but  fait,  I  couldn't 
help  it,  for  we  were  wanting  to  get  a  little  some- 
thing, that  same  little  sthill,  past  the  park,  and 
couldn't  for  you.  So  I  wint  mad,  and  frightened  ye ; 
yet — God  bless  ye  ! — ye  thought  I  looked  hungry, 
and  so  ye  brought  out  sich  a  dale  o'  food,  and  laid 
it  aside  the  hedge.  But  come  along ;  the  white  rose 
can't  blow  'mong  the  coorse  weeds." 

"Jim,  Jim,  ax  her  to  promise  on  the  Book,"  said 
Paddy. 

"  Ax — not  I :  sure  the  honour's  in  her  heart's 
blood."  And  so  saying,  "rattling  Jimmy,"  the 
smuggler  and  the  peep-o'-day-boy,  lifted  Lilly 
kindly  and  respectfully  out  of  Daniel  M'Cleary's 
black  den. 

"  And  now,"  said  Peggy,  "  I'll  finish  my  prayers." 

A  fortnight  had  nearly  elapsed,  and  no  letter 
had  arrived  from  Edward.  Lilly  most  truly  wished 
to  leave  the  cottage,  and  urged  every  reason  she 
could  think  of  to  be  permitted  so  to  do.  "Miss 
Herriott  was  going  for  the  winter  to  Dublin,  and 
wanted  a  bettermost  lady's-maid,  and  a  little  time 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  261 

there  would  do  her  the  world  and  all  o'  good ; "  or, 
"  She  had  a  bad  cough,  and  it  might  go  away  if  she 
went  more  up  the  country."  But  the  entreaties 
and  tears  of  her  aunt,  to  whose  very  existence  she 
seemed  as  necessary  as  the  air  she  breathed, 
silenced  her  request ;  and  she  resolved  to  meet  her 
relatives,  however  painful  the  meeting  might  be. 
"My  aunt  will  get  used  to  Lucy  after  a  bit," 
thought  she,  "  then  I  can  go :  and,  anyway,  he 
doesn't  know  I  ever  loved  him ;  and  sure  it's  no 
sin,  in  the  sight  o'  God,  to  love  him  as  I  have 
loved."  And  Lilly  was  right ;  there  was  no  im- 
purity in  her  affection.  It  was  the  feeling  that 
seeks  the  good  of  its  object,  without  any  reference 
to  self.  She  did  not  regret  that  Edward  was 
happy  with  another;  nor  had  she,  towards  his  wife, 
one  jealous  or  unkind  thought.  "  And  sure  I  shall 
rejoice  to  see  him  happy."  This  was  her  last  idea, 
as  she  rested  her  head  on  her  humble  pillow — and 
yet  the  morning  found  it  wet  with  tears ;  and  then 
she  knelt,  and  prayed  to  God  to  bless  her  aunt, 
and  Edward,  and  his  wife,  and  to  direct  her  in  all 
her  paths. 

"  There's  one  wants  to  spake  a  word  to  ye,  Miss 
Lilly  dear,  jist  down  yonder,"  said  Peggy  the 
Fisher,  as  Lilly  entered  the  garden,  after  breakfast, 
one  morning. 

"  Who  is  it,  Peggy  ?  " 

"  Well,  thin,  it's  jist  Harry  Connor.  He's  had  a 
letter  from  Ned,  and  he  wants  to  see  ye  on  the 
strength  of  it."  Peggy  passed  on  her  way,  and 


262  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

Lilly  proceeded  to  the  spot  the  Fisher  had  pointed 
out.  Harry  Connor  was  there. 

"  I  got  word  from  yer  cousin,  Lilly,"  said  Harry, 
"  that  him  and  his  wife  are  at  Ballyhack,  and  will 
be  here  to-morrow ;  and  they'd  have  come  before, 
but  Lucy  (I  think  he  calls  her)  has  been  very  ill 
from  sea-sickness;  and  he  begged  me  to  tell  ye  so. 
Dear  Lilly,  I  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  ;  for 
there's  no  getting  a  sight  o'  ye.  You're  always  at 
home,  and  even  on  Sundays  yer  aunt  goes  on  the 
car  to  chapel,  so  one  can't  speak  to  ye.  Oh,  Lilly  ! 
Lilly  !  you  were  not  always  so  distant — don't  you 
remember  when  I  used  to  sit  of  an  evening  in  that 
garden,  between  you  and  Edward,  reading,  and 
you  used  to  call  me  your  master,  and  say  the  time 
passed  so  happily?"  Tears  gathered  in  Lilly's 
eyes  as  she  turned  away  her  face ;  for  she  too  re- 
membered those  evenings.  "  Lilly,"  continued  the 
young  man,  "  have  you  heard  anything  against  me  ? 
Your  aunt  always  showed  me  the  could  shoulder — I 
don't  blame  her  for  that  in  past  times ;  but  now 
she  would  not,  if  you  wished.  Oh,  do  not  say  you 
cannot  love  me,  Lilly  !  You  have  always  shunned 
me  when  I  wanted  to  spake  about  it ;  but  tell  me 
now,  Lilly  O'Brien  !  I  will  wait ;  I  will  do  any- 
thing you  wish — anything ! — only  say,  Lilly,  that 
you  do  not  hate  me." 

"  No,  Harry,  I  do  not,  indeed,"  and  she  met  his 
eye  with  steady  firmness. 

"  Only  one  word  more,  and  then,"  he  continued, 
holding  her  struggling  hand,  "  you  may  go.  I  will 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  263 

wait  any  time  you  please,  only  say  that  it  shan't 
be  in  vain — that  you  will  be  my  wife,  and  make 
one,  whose  heart  almost  bursts  at  the  thought  of 
losing  you,  happy  ! " 

"  Harry,  I  cannot  desave  ye,"  she  replied,  "  nor 
would  not,  if  I  could.  I  know  I've  shunned  ye ; 
because  I  hoped  that  you  would  see  why — to  save 
us  both  all  this  heart-pain.  I  have  always  had 
rason  to  respect  you — and  I  do ;  but  love  ye  I 
never  can  :  and  I'll  never  marry  the  man  I  cannot 
love." 

"  Only  one  word,"  said  Harry  earnestly ;  "  sure 
you'll  hear  me — you  say  you've  a  regard  for  me. 
Lilly,  you  go  nowhere ;  you  see  no  one.  I  do  not 
speak  of  my  being  well-to-do  in  the  world ;  but  if 
ye  were  to  let  me  near  ye,  to  be  with  ye  as  I  once 
was,  in  bygone  days,  the  love  might  come.  Oh, 
let  me  only  try  ! " 

"  No,  Harry,  no ;  it  would  be  useless.  My  heart 
here  tells  me  so.  You  will  find  many  fitter  for  ye, 
who  can  love  ye  as  ye  deserve.  May  the  Almighty 
bless  and  watch  over  ye,  Harry !  And  farewell." 
The  young  man  still  grasped  her  hand  ;  and,  as  he 
gazed  on  her  beautiful  face,  he  felt  that,  if  it  were 
turned  from  him  for  ever,  his  sun  of  happiness  was 
indeed  set. 

"  Lilly,  before  ye  go,  hear  my  last  resolve.  If  ye 
really  cast  me  off,  I,  who  love  ye  more  than  life — 
I  who,  to  see  even  the  glimmer  of  the  candle 
carried  by  this  hand,  have  watched  in  rain  and 
tempest  under  yon  old  tree — I  will  leave  my 


264  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

father's  home,  and  for  your  sake,  Lilly,  I  will 
take  priest's  vows,  and  forsake  the  world.  Think 
well,  Lilly  O'Brien,  if,  from  mere  whim,  or  maiden 
modesty,  you  would  drive  me  to  that." 

"  Harry,  God  forbid  that  you  should  ever  do  so ! 
Ye  would  not  be  fit  to  sarve  on  the  altar,  if  for  any- 
thing like  that  ye  went  there.  No,  Harry;  my 
heart  must  go  with  my  hand.  They're  all  I  have 
to  give,  but  they  must  go  together :  even  you  would 
despise,  ay,  hate  that  hand,  if  ye  found,  for  lucre,  it 
gave  itself,  when  the  betther  part  was  wanting." 

"  Lilly,  maybe  ye  love  some  one  else  ?  Oh  ! 
maybe  I'm  proud;  but  surely  there's  not  a  boy  all 
round  the  country  could  win  your  heart." 

"  I  do  not  love  any  one  for  marriage.  So,  once 
more,  God  bless  ye,  Harry — may  ye  be  happy — 
happier,"  she  muttered  to  herself,  "  happier  than  I 
shall  ever  be ! " 

Harry  stood  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  spot 
where  Lilly  had  disappeared.  His  senses  were 
bewildered ;  and  it  was  not  until  a  smart  slap 
on  the  shoulder,  and  the  voice  of  the  everlasting 
Peggy,  who  appeared  (one  would  almost  believe, 
like  Sir  Boyle  Roche's  bird,  in  two  places  at  the 
same  time)  at  his  elbow,  with  her  broad  platter 
face,  shaded  by  the  fish  basket,  that  he  became 
fully  sensible  of  the  reality  of  his  interview. 

"  Sure  I  tould  ye  ye'd  get  no  good  of  the  colleen  ; 
and  if  ye'd  ha'  mintioned  the  matther  to  me  afore, 
I'd  ha'  tould  ye  the  same  thing,  and  maybe  the  rason 
too." 


THE    LEGACY 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,  R.S.A. 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  265 

"I  know,"  said  Harry  musingly,  "she  does  not 
love  any  one  else." 

"  Och,  ye  do,  do  ye? — humph,  agra  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  woman  ?  Sure  she  told 
me  she  did  not ;  and  her  lips  never  lied,  nor  never 
will." 

"  Asy  ! — the  string  o'  my  bades  broke,  and  I  was 
forced  to  stop  to  mend  it  jist  behind  that  big  bush 
o'  furze.  A  poor  creature  like  me  can't  afford  to 
be  buying  bades  every  day.  So,  my  dear — all 
accident  (for  I  scorn  a  listener) — I  hard  what  she 
said — ' s/te  loved  no  one  for  marriage'.  True  for 
her :  they  talk  a  grate  dale  of  her  sinse  ;  but  it's  poor 
sinse  to  go  look  for  the  snow  that  fell  last  winter. 
I'll  tell  ye  what,  as  a  dead  sacret : — she  loved  the 
ground  that  her  cousin  walked  on,  more  than  all 
the  gould  that  ever  was  in  or  ever  came  out  o' 
Indy.  And  she  loves  him  still — ay,  ye  needn't 
look  so  strange ;  she  loves  him,  but  nothin'  im- 
proper. I  know  that  girl's  heart  as  well  as  if  I  was 
inside  of  her — 'tis  of  the  sort  that  doesn't  stain  or 
spot.  And  now  you'll  see  her  delight  '11  be  to  tache 
his  wife  all  the  ould  mistress's  quare  ways.  And 
thin,  whin  she'll  have  made  pace  intirely  among  'em, 
she'll  stale  off,  like  the  mist  up  the  mountain,  and 
work  (and  well  she  knows  how)  for  his  sake  that 
doesn't  know  she  loves  him.  It's  mighty  fine  to 
be  so  romantical  all  for  pure  love.  God  help  us, 
poor  women,  we're  all  tinder  !  It  was  the  way  wid 
me,  whin  my  bachelor  died — rest  his  sowl ! — and 
that's  the  rason  I'm  a  poor  lone  body  now.  Sure 


266  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

I  sould  the  pig  my  mother  left  me,  to  pay  the 
clargy  to  get  his  sowl  out  o'  purgatory;  and 
wasn't  it  well  for  him  to  have  it  to  depind  on  ?  " 

Harry,  heedless  of  Peggy's  pathetic  application 
of  the  apron  to  her  eyes,  turned  towards  his  own 
home,  "  revolving  sweet  and  bitter  thoughts." 
There  is  a  delight  imparted  to  every  unsophisti- 
cated heart  by  the  contemplation  of  a  noble  or  a 
virtuous  action  that  nothing  else  can  give;  and 
Harry's  generous  mind  at  once  acknowledged 
Lilly's  virtues  :  loving  at  first  without  knowing  it ; 
feeling  it  unrequited ;  and  yet  resolved  to  benefit 
its  object  to  the  sacrifice  of  every  personal  con- 
venience and  prospect  in  life. 

The  next  day  Edward  and  his  bride  arrived  at 
the  cottage.  Mrs.  Cassidy,  in  compliance  with  her 
oath,  received  them  kindly.  The  mother's  heart 
yearned  towards  her  son ;  but  poor  Lucy  saw  the 
old  woman  entertained  a  strong  prejudice  against 
her. 

The  "  kindly  welcome "  that  murmured  from 
Lilly's  lips  sounded  sweetly  on  the  young 
stranger's  ear;  and  as  fatigue  compelled  her  to  go 
to  bed  almost  immediately,  Lilly's  kind  attentions 
were  very  delightful.  The  kind  girl  had  displayed 
much  taste  and  care  in  arranging  their  small  sleep- 
ing-room. Every  article  she  could  spare  from 
her  own  chamber  was  added  to  its  furniture. 
And  when  Lucy  saw  everything  so  clean  and 
comfortable,  she  expressed  both  surprise  and 
pleasure. 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  267 

It  was  impossible  not  to  love  Lucy  when  you 
looked  at  her;  but  it  was  somewhat  doubtful  if 
that  sentiment  would  continue  when  you  knew 
her.  Her  eyes  were  black,  quick,  and  quite  as 
likely  to  sparkle  with  anger  as  with  pleasure. 
She  was  very  petite,  lively,  thoughtless,  and  pos- 
sessed precisely  those  acquirements  that  were 
useless  in  an  Irish  cottage.  The  daughter  of  a 
grocer  in  Plymouth,  she  had  seen,  fallen  in  love, 
ran  away  with,  and  married  Edward  in  the  short 
space  of  three  weeks ;  and  had  not  yet  numbered 
sixteen  years.  Her  youth  pleaded  strongly  in  her 
favour;  but  her  extreme  giddiness  kept  Lilly — the 
sweet,  the  patient  Lilly — perpetually  on  the  watch, 
lest  she  might  do  something  to  annoy  her  mother- 
in-law.  It  is  true  she  quilled  Mrs.  Cassidy's  caps 
in  so  new  and  bewitching  a  style  that  everybody 
said  Lucy  made  the  good  lady  look  ten  years 
younger.  She  washed  her  old  mode  cloak  in 
some  stuff,  of  which  whisky  and  beer  were  the 
principal  ingredients,  and  made  it  appear,  to  the 
astonishment  of  the  whole  parish,  "bran-new." 
Then  she  trimmed  bonnets — one  yard  and  a  half 
of  riband  managed  by  her  went  as  far  as  three 
and  a  quarter  ('tis  an  absolute  fact)  with  anybody 
else.  She  could  work  natural  flowers  upon  gauze, 
and  embroider  the  corners  of  pocket-handkerchiefs. 
She  could  even  get  up  fine  linen :  but  she  could 
neither  spin  flax  nor  wool,  nor  card,  nor  milk,  nor 
churn,  nor  cram  fowl,  nor  make  butter,  nor  a  shirt 
nor  shift  of  any  description.  The  worst  of  all  was, 


268  IRISH   LIFE   AND   CHARACTER 

she  had  said,  unfortunately,  that  she  was  certain  no 
Christian  body  could  eat  bread  made  from  the  flour 
that  was  pounded  out  by  those  dirty  stones ;  thus 
bringing  Mrs.  Cassidy's  invaluable  quern  into  con- 
tempt. Then  it  was  quite  impossible  to  keep  her 
quiet ;  everything  excited  her  risibility.  One  day  in 
particular,  when  the  turkey-cock,  affronted  at  Mrs. 
Cassidy's  scarlet  petticoat,  which  outvied  his  own 
red  neck,  picked  unmercifully  at  her  legs,  Lucy  only 
laughed,  and  never  went  to  the  rescue,  which  induced 
the  old  lady  to  say  that  "  Ned  pretended  to  bring 
home  a  wife,  but  had  only  brought  home  a  doll." 

Lilly  might  well  be  called  her  guardian  angel : 
when,  like  a  schoolgirl,  she  scampered  over  the 
fields,  gathering  flowers,  or  hunting  every  cock, 
hen,  and  chicken  over  the  potato  ridges,  Lilly 
followed  to  prevent  her  over-fatiguing  herself,  and 
to  assist  her  home.  Then  she  would  instruct  her 
how  to  please  her  mother-in-law ;  and,  if  Mrs. 
Cassidy  complained,  Lilly  had  always  some  remark 
to  soften  down  what  was  said.  Her  general  apology 
was,"  She's  so  young  ;  but  she'll  soon  be  a  mother, 
and  then  she'll  get  sense." 

"  I  wonder  Ned  did  not  fall  in  love  with  you, 
Lilly,"  said  Lucy,  one  day.  "  I'm  sure  you'd  have 
made  a  better  wife  for  him  than  ever  I  shall ! " 
How  poor  Lilly  blushed,  and  then  turned  pale ; 
but  Lucy  heeded  it  not.  "  How  industrious  Ned 
grows! — Well,  they  would  not  believe  in  Plymouth 
that  he'd  ever  settle  down  into  a  farmer,  but  I'm 
sure  he  works  in  the  fields  from  morning  till  night." 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  269 

"  People  who  are  not  rich  must  work,  Lucy." 

"  Now,  Lilly,  that's  a  hit  at  me,  who  let  you  do 
everything.  But  do  not  look  so  angry  with  me, 
dearest  Lilly.  I  beg  pardon  :  you  never  hit  at  any- 
body. Oh,  you  are  not  like  an  Irishwoman  !  " 

"  Oh,  Lucy  dear !  don't  be  after  talking  that  way 
o'  the  country  afore  my  aunt,  for  it  hurts  her ;  and 
ye  must  remimber  how  much  she's  thought  of  in 
the  parish." 

"  Well,  there,  I'll'  be  as  good  as  gold— there  !  " 
and  she  sat  down  to  work  at  some  caps  for  a  little 
stranger  that  was  expected  soon. 

Edward  was  very  affectionate  to  his  young  wife, 
although  her  heedlessness  often  annoyed  him  ;  but 
when  he  gazed  on  her  fairy-like  beauty  he  forgave 
it.  The  Protestant  church  was  too  far  for  her  to 
walk ;  she  could  not  go  to  mass,  and  her  husband 
loved  her  too  well  to  permit  her  to  be  teased  on 
the  subject.  Her  mother-in-law,  and  even  Lilly, 
were  grieved  at  this,  and  lamented  that  she  thought 
so  little  about  serious  things.  However,  Mrs.  Cassidy 
always  reconciled  it  to  herself  by  saying,  "  Niver 
mind ;  she'll  be  all  the  asier  brought  round  to  the 
right  way  by  and  by."  But,  of  all  the  amusements 
in  which  the  thoughtless  creature  delighted,  noth- 
ing pleased  her  so  much  as  boating :  if  she  could 
even  get  into  a  boat  by  herself,  she  would  paddle  it 
round  the  creeks,  and  into  the  bays,  which  in  some 
places  are  overhung  by  scowling  rocks,  where  the 
sea-birds  nestle  in  safety. 

"The  potatoes  are  almost  done,  by  their  bubbling, 


270  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

I  suppose,  Lilly,"  said  she  one  day,  "so  I'll  go  and 
meet  Ned  as  he  comes  from  the  plough,  and  we 
shall  be  just  in  time  for  dinner,"  and  away  she 
tripped,  singing  as  blithely  as  a  lark. 

"She  has  a  light  heart,"  thought  Lilly;  "and 
why  not  ? — mine  is  not  as  heavy  as  it  used  to  be. 
Well,  thank  God,  it  does  make  people  happy  to  do 
their  duty,"  and  she  assisted  the  little  serving-girl 
in  arranging  all  things  in  their  kitchen — a  task 
soon  performed.  The  potatoes,  laughing  and  smok- 
ing, were  poured  out  on  a  clean  home-bleached 
cloth,  and  the  white  noggins  frothed  with  fresh 
buttermilk  of  Lilly's  own  churning.  Something 
prepared  with  extra  care,  for  the  delicate  English- 
woman, was  covered  between  two  delf  plates  at  the 
fire,  and  Mrs.  Cassidy  stood  watching  at  the  door, 
her  hand  lifted  to  her  eyes,  to  shade  them  from  the 
noonday  sun,  while  Lilly  mixed  some  gooseberry 
wine  with  water  and  sugar  for  Lucy. 

"Lilly,  didn't  ye  say  that  Lucy  went  to  meet 
Ned?" 

"  Yes,  aunt." 

"  Well,  here's  Ned  at  the  gate  almost,  and  no  sign 
o'  Lucy." 

"  That's  mighty  strange,"  replied  Lilly,  advanc- 
ing. "  Ned,  where's  Lucy  ?  " 

"  At  her  dinner,  I  suppose." 

"  Now,  don't  be  so  foolish.  I'm  sure  she  met 
ye." 

"  She  did  not,  indeed,  and  I  was  longing  to  see 
her," 


LILLY  OBRIEN  2/1 

"It  is  some  of  her  childish  tricks,"  said  Mrs. 
Cassidy. 

"  Her  dinner  '11  be  stone  could,  though,"  said 
Lilly,  looking  out,  "  so  I'll  jist  go  see  if  I  can  meet 
her ;  and  sit  ye  all  down,  or  the  pratees  '11  not  be 
fit  to  ate,"  and  she  issued  forth  without  further 
parley. 

Ned  did  not  sit  down,  although  his  mother  urged 
him.  "  Her  dinner  has  nothing  to  do  with  yours, 
Ned  ;  sure  Lilly  has  something  nice  under  the 
plate  for  her.  No  sign  of  her  yet,"  she  continued, 
after  a  pause  ;  "  sure  she  wouldn't  be  so  foolish  as 
to  go  to  Tim  La  very 's  boat,  for  a  bit  of  a  spree. 
I  caught  her  in  it  reading  yesterday,  but  it  was 
anchored  safe,  sure  enough." 

Ned  made  no  reply,  but  followed  the  footsteps  of 
his  cousin.  The  field  he  had  been  ploughing  was 
very  near  the  beach ;  he  hastily  gained  it,  and  his 
horror  and  dismay  can  be  better  conceived  than 
expressed  when,  gaining  the  cliff,  the  first  object  he 
beheld  was  Lilly,  half  in  and  half  out  of  the  water, 
dragging  to  shore  the  apparently  lifeless  body  of  his 
wife.  When  Lilly  left  the  cottage,  she  first  looked 
behind  the  large  furze  and  hawthorn  bushes  near 
the  field,  and  then  the  boat  occurred  to  her.  She 
sped  to  the  sea,  and  saw  it  in  shallow  water,  but 
upset,  with  Lucy  clinging  to  the  stern,  faint  and  ex- 
hausted. To  plunge  into  the  water  and  bring  her 
inland  was  the  work  but  of  a  moment,  and  done 
before  Edward  could  descend  the  cliffs. 

The  thoughtless  creature  was  soon   conveyed 


2/2  IRISH   LIFE  AND   CHARACTER 

home.  Her  nerves  were  quite  shattered.  She  clung 
closely  to  Lilly's  bosom,  like  a  frightened  child, 
and  did  not  even  return  her  husband's  caresses. 
She  was  hardly  laid  on  her  bed  when  shrieks  of 
agony  succeeded  the  half-murmured  words  and 
sobbings  of  terror;  and,  after  long  and  painful  suffer- 
ing, the  being  who,  not  many  hours  before,  had 
bounded  in  the  full  light  and  life  of  early  youth,  gave 
premature  birth  to  a  living  child,  and  then  yielded 
up  her  own  existence.  It  was  very  sorrowful  to 
mark  the  merry  eyes  closed  for  ever  beneath  their 
alabaster  lids,  and  the  long  black  lashes  resting  on 
her  colourless  cheeks. 

Then  came  a  long  and  loud  debate  between  the 
Protestant  and  Catholic  priests  as  to  who  was  to 
perform  the  last  rites — as  if  the  spirit's  happiness 
depended  on  man's  words  repeated  over  inanimate 
clay.  The  widower  roused  himself  from  the  lethargy 
that  succeeds  the  first  rush  of  impetuous  grief,  and 
said,  calmly  but  firmly,  "  Plase  your  reverences,  I'm 
a  Catholic,  and  ever  was  and  will  be  ;  but  she  that's 
gone  from  me  was  born  a  Protestant,  married  a 
Protestant,  and,  as  she  died  one,  so  shall  she  be 
buried,  and  that's  enough.  And  what's  more,  I 
promised  her,  when  I  didn't  think  that  death  and 
desolation  would  come  at  this  time,  that  if  the  chiki 
was  a  girl,  it  should  go  wid  her ;  if  a  boy,  wid  me. 
Now,  gentlemen,  I'm  not  a  larned  man,  but  my 
mind  is,  that  a  promise  to  the  dead  or  the  living  is 
holy  and  firm  in  its  natur' ;  and  so,  as  I  promised 
it  shall  be.  I  couldn't  look  upon  the  babby's  face 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  2?3 

for  a  king's  ransom,  nor  do  I  know  whether  it  be 
boy  or  girl.  Mother,  say  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  A  girl,"  replied  Mrs.  Cassidy. 

"Well,  maybe  more  betther.  Maybe  you'd  just 
baptize  it,  Mr.  Barlow,  and  Lilly  and  my  mother  '11 
stand  for  it ;  as  my  notion  is  it  can't  live — and  why 
should  it  ?  " 

But  the  little  Lucy  did  live— thanks  to  Lilly's 
fostering  care ;  and  so  fragile  a  thing  it  was  that 
even  a  rough  kiss  might  have  killed  it.  A  nurse 
was  immediately  procured,  and  Lilly  had  the  sat- 
isfaction of  seeing  all  Mrs.  Cassidy's  solicitude 
directed  towards  the  infant ;  nay,  she  almost  forgot 
the  quern,  and  the  only  danger  was  that  the  child 
would  be  destroyed  by  kindness.  There  was, 
however,  to  Lilly's  delicate  mind,  something  most 
improper  in  her  remaining  in  the  same  house  with 
her  cousin.  He  was  again  free.  Although  she 
hoped  that  he  did  not  suspect  her  love,  yet  he 
knew  of  his  mother's  old  plan, — he  had  once,  in 
anger,  reproached  her  as  being  accessory  to  it, — and 
Lilly  decided  on  leaving  our  village.  Edward, 
since  sorrow  had  laid  her  hand  on  him,  was  an 
altered  man,  and  Mrs.  Cassidy  was  enjoying  a 
vigorous  old  age :  so  she  could  leave  her,  assured 
of  happiness.  It  was  a  bitter  trial  to  forsake  her 
little  godchild,  yet  she  felt  she  owed  a  duty  to 
herself.  Mr.  Herriott's  family  were  again  about 
to  visit  Dublin,  and,  without  imparting  her  plan  to 
any  one,  she  offered  her  services  to  Miss  Herriott. 
They  were  joyfully  accepted,  not  without  many 
18 


274  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

expressions  of  wonder  that  "  the  Bannow  Lilly," 
the  flower  of  the  whole  countryside,  should  leave 
a  spot  where  she  was  so  much  beloved.  Lilly 
pleaded  a  wish  for  improvement,  and  finally  ar- 
ranged to  set  off  with  Miss  Herriott  in  three  days. 
As  she  returned  she  heard  Peggy's  loud  voice, 
singing  her  old  favourite,  "  The  Colleen  Rue."  Just 
as  she  got  to  her  favourite  stanza — 

"  I  ranged  through  Asia — likewise  Arabia, 
Through  Penselvanie,  a-seeking  for  you  ; 
Through  the  burning  region  of  the  siege  of  Paris  " — 

she  espied  Lilly  dressed  in  her  decent  mourning 
habit. 

"  The  blessing  be  about  ye,  my  precious  ! — and 
maybe  ye'd  tell  us  where  ye've  been.  Sorra  a  bit 
o'  news  going  now  for  a  poor  body." 

"  I've  been  up  to  Mrs.  Herriott's,  Peggy." 

"  Och  !  they're  going  to  Dublin,  all  the  way,  on 
Tuesday.  Sure  that'll  be  the  black  journey  for  the 
poor.  You  needn't  care,  Miss  Lilly  ;  sure  you've 
full  and  plinty,  and  an  own  fireside." 

"  I'm  going  as  own  maid  with  Miss  Herriott, 
Peggy — there's  a  small  taste  of  news  for  yer 
comfort,"  continued  Lilly,  smiling;  "and  more 
betokens,  you've  the  first  of  it,  for  I've  not  told  my 
aunt  yet." 

"You  going?  Och,  oh,  oh! — don't  be  making 
yer  fun  of  us  after  that  fashion ;  we  know  betther 
nor  that." 

"  It's  quite  true,  for  all  ye  may  think,  and  so  God 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  275 

be  wid  ye,  Peggy  !  You  and  poor  Coal  will  often 
cross  my  mind  when  I'm  alone  among  strangers." 

"  Arrah,  now,  stop  ! — sure  ye  can't  be  in  arnist. 
Sure  there's  not  a  living  soul  in  the  parish  but  says 
you'll  be  married  to  Ned  now  ;  and  at  St.  Pathrick's 
sure  I  heard  'em  talking  about  it ;  and  how  Harry 
Connor's  priested — sure  he's  Father  Harry  for  your 
sake." 

"  Peggy,  I  take  shame  to  myself  for  hearkening 
to  your  palaver  for  a  moment :  dacent  talk  ye  have, 
and  the  young  grass  not  green  on  her  grave  yet ! 
Once  more  I  say,  God  be  wid  ye."  "  I  have  done 
right,"  thought  she,  "  but  I  shall  not  be  able  to  make 
my  dear  aunt  think  so." 

Poor  Mrs.  Cassidy  scolded  and  cried  with  might 
and  main  ;  and  Ned  remonstrated,  and  even  said 
that  he  took  it  very  unkind  of  her  to  leave  them, 
and,  above  all,  the  little  thing  whose  life  she  had 
saved.  But  Lilly  was  firm,  and  departed  amid  the 
reproaches  and  tears  of  her  aunt,  and  the  heartfelt 
regret  of  her  neighbours. 

How  very  irksome  were  her  employments  ! — how 
did  she  shrink  from  the  rude  gaze  of  gentlemen 
and  gentlemen's  gentlemen,  who,  astonished  at  her 
beauty,  paid  homage  by  staring  her  out  of  counten- 
ance ! — and  how  often  did  she  long  for  the  quiet  of 
the  lowly  cottage  in  the  isolated  village  of  Bannow  ! 
At  first  she  imagined  that  city  people  must  be  very 
superior  to  country  ones.  But  she  soon  grew  tired 
of  the  pert  flippancy  and  foolish  airs  of  the  servants 
she  met ;  and  by  Miss  Herriott's  permission,  retired, 


276  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

when  unoccupied,  to  the  solitude  of  her  kind  lady's 
dressing-room.  She  received  letters  once  a  month 
generally,  from  her  cousin.  The  two  first,  in 
addition  to  the  necessary  information,  anxiously 
entreated  her  return ;  but  latterly  (for  the  stay  of 
the  family  was  prolonged,  owing  to  Mrs.  Herriott's 
illness)  the  subject  was  never  mentioned ;  and  the 
bitter  feeling  that  there  no  longer  existed  any  one 
to  love  her,  weighed  heavily  on  her  heart.  Sixteen 
months  had  elapsed  since  Lucy's  death,  and 
Edward  ever  spoke  of  his  child  with  all  a  father's 
fondness.  Lilly  longed  to  see  it,  but  she  had  re- 
solved on  never  again  living  with  her  aunt — and 
she  remained  firm  to  her  resolution. 

She  had  been  dressing  her  young  lady  one 
morning  when,  passing  downstairs,  the  footman 
said,  "  There's  one  in  the  housekeeper's  room  that 
wants  ye."  She  hardly  entered  when  she  was 
almost  suffocated  by  the  embraces  of  Mrs.  Cassidy ; 
and  then  she  had  to  encounter  the  respectful 
but  affectionate  greetings  of  her  cousin.  Her  aunt 
earnestly  looked  at  her,  would  not  sit  down,  but 
said,  "  Now,  my  darlint  Lilly,  it  is  much  ye  ought 
to  thank  me  for  this  journey — in  my  ould  age  to 
take  to  the  road  agin ;  but  ye  see  the  rason  is,  that 
Ned  is  tired  o'  being  bachelor,  and  he's  going  to 
change  his  condition,  and  jist  wants  to  ax  your 
advice  and  consint." 

"  Mine !  " 

"Now,  mother  dear,  don't  be  mumming,"  said 
Ned.  "  Lilly,  I  come  to  ax  ye  to  accept  the  hand 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  277 

of  one  who  is  unworthy  to  be  yer  husband,  but  yet 
would  die  to  make  you  happy.  Lilly,  don't  cast  me 
off— for  my  mother's  sake,  for  my  own,  for  this 
one's  sake ! " — and  he  took  from  the  arms  of  our 
old  friend,  Peggy  the  Fisher,  a  smiling,  black-eyed 
little  creature,  who  almost  instantly  nestled  its  curly 
pate  in  Lilly's  bosom.  "  Sure  ye  can  make  us  all 
happy,  if  ye  like;  and  we'll  be  all  in  quiet  Bannow 
agin.  Say,  Lilly  !  Oh,  don't  look  so  could  on  me  ! " 

"  Will  ye  hould  your  whisht,  Ned  ! "  interrupted 
Peggy-  "  If  ever  I  see'd  anybody  trated  in  this  mis- 
mannerly  fashion  !  Can't  ye  see  wid  half  an  eye 
that  the  cratur's  as  good  as  fainted,  ye  omathawn  ! 
No  wonder,  and  ye  both  bellowering  thegither.  Ye 
don't  know  how  to  make  a  dacent  proposhal ;  ye've 
frightened  the  grawl  betwixt  ye.  Whisht,  honey, 
whisht ! "  (to  the  child) — "  there's  a  woman  !  Ay — 
come  to  your  own  Peggy,  that's  hushowed  ye  oftin  ; 
and  will  agin,  by  the  blessin'  o'  God." 

Lilly,  literally  unable  to  stand,  sank  into  the 
housekeeper's  chair.  Edward  knelt  at  her  side; 
and  his  mother,  holding  one  of  her  hands  to  her 
heart,  looked  earnestly  on  her  face ;  while  Peggy, 
"hushowing"  the  child,  was  not  an  uninterested 
spectator. 

"God  knows,"  said  the  young  woman,  after  a 
little  time,  "  I  did  not  expect  this.  Aunt,  when  I 
had  no  father  to  protect  me — no  mother  to  feel  for 
me — you  did  both :  you  shared  with  me  what  you 
had  ;  and  oh  !  what  was  more  than  all — while  I  ate 
o'  yer  bread,  and  drank  o'  yer  cup,  ye  never  made 


278  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

me  feel  that  it  was  not  my  father's  roof  that  sheltered 
me.  Ned,  we  grew  together :  and  you  were  to  me 
as  a  born  brother.  But  ye  wronged  me,  Ned,  that 
night — the  first  time  (and  God,  that  hears  me,  knows 
it),  the  first  time  I  ever  guessed  my  aunt  wished  me 
to  be  nearer  to  her  than  her  brother's  child ;  that 
night,  when,  to  prevint  yer  laving  home,  I  proposed 
to  quit  for  ever  my  only  frind  ;  when  I  did  her 
bidding,  an'  followed  ye  through  the  moonlight,  to 
bring  ye  back  to  yer  poor  ould  mother,  ye  cast  a 
black  word  in  my  face,  and  ye  said  that  I — I,  Lilly 
O'Brien — was  leagued  agin  ye — and  that  I  followed 
ye  to  get  a  husband."  She  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands,  and  faintly  continued :  "  I  have  never 
forgotten  it ;  I  have  prayed  to  do  so.  No  one  ever 
knew  it  but  Peggy — she  overheard  it.  Oh !  it 
weighed  here,  at  the  very  bottom  of  my  heart ;  and 
when  I  slept,  it  was  wid  me ;  it " 

"  Oh,  Lilly,  how  can  ye  take  on  so ! — Sure  it  was 
the  bad  temper  that  did  it,  and  I  didn't  mane  it. 
And  sure  you've  proved  since  that  it's  little  truth 
was  in  it.  Sure  you've  been  more  like  an  angel 
than  anything  else;  and  sure  when  I  ax  yer 
pardon " 

"  Stop,  Ned  :  ye  do  now  ;  but  maybe,  by  an'  by, 
ye  might  say  the  same  thing  agen ;  and  if  ye  did 
it,  and  if  we  were  married,  I  could  never  look  up 
after ! " 

"  Why,  Lilly,"  said  Mrs.  Cassidy,  "  ye're  making 
him  out  a  fair  black  villain,  after  all  yer  goodness, 
to  think  he'd  do  the  likes  o'  that — after  yer  coming 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  279 

over  me,  to  take  an  oath  to  resave  him  and  his  as 
my  own,  whin  a  word  was  only  wanting  to  make 
me  ban  him  for  iver." 

"  And  after  her  flying  at  me  like  a  mad  cat," 
echoed  Peggy,  "  becase  I  gave  her  a  bit  of  advice 
(for  I  was  fairly  bothered)  to  take  care  of  a  little 
property  for  herself." 

"  Ay,  and  all  her  attintion  to  the  stranger,"  re- 
sumed Mrs.  Cassidy. 

"  And  her  sinding  him  her  own  three  pounds  to 
bring  him  home,"  said  Peggy. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  inquired  Lilly. 

"  Is  it  how  I  know  it  ?  Why,  thin,  I'll  jist  tell  ye. 
I  know  yer  aunt  hadn't  a  tester  in  the  house,  becase 
she'd  given  me  every  pinny  to  exchange  for  gould, 
that  she  might  pay  her  rint  in  it — not  in  dirty  paper 
— to  plase  the  landlord." 

"  Yer  good  deeds  are  all  known,  Lilly.  Oh,  let 
me  say,  my  Lilly.  Sure  ye'll  forgive  yer  cousin. 
How  can  I  admire  ye  as  I  ought? — Don't  shake  yer 
head,  Lilly  dear — but " 

The  opening  of  the  door  prevented  the  conclusion 
of  Edward's  speech;  and  Miss  Herriott  entered,  her 
face  radiant  with  satisfaction.  "  So,  Lilly,  I  am  to 
lose  you  !  Nay,  do  not  talk,  girl.  I  know  you  love 
him  ;  I  knew  it  all  along.  Peggy  told  me  all  about 
it,  at  the  end  of  the  shrubbery,  the  night  before  we 
left  Bannow ;  and  my  dressmaker  has  made  the 
wedding-dress,  because  Edward  Cassidy  wrote  to 
me,  and  asked  my  opinion  and  consent :  which  was 
fitting ;  and  I  assured  him  you  had  not  been  flirting 


280  IRISH   LIFE   AND   CHARACTER 

with  any  one,  and  invited  him  and  my  old  friend 
up  to  Dublin.  As  to  you,  Peggy,  I  never  expected 
you,  but  you  are  not  less  welcome." 

"  Why,  I  thank  ye,  Miss,  my  lady.  I  jist  came  to 
see  how  ye  all  war,  and  to  mind  the  child,  and  to 
look  at  the  fine  beautiful  city,  and  the  college,  that 
bates  the  world  for  laming,  as  I  have  heard,  and  the 
ancient  ould  Parliament-house ;  and  thin  go  back, 
and  give  rest  to  my  bones  among  my  own  people. 
But  I  hope  ye'll  persuade  Miss  Lilly,  my  lady,  for 
her  own  good.  Sure  they  love  each  other — and 
what's  more  wanting  for  happiness  ? " 

"  Ay,  do,  Miss.  She'll  do  yer  bidding,  maybe  ; 
she's  forgotten  mine,"  and  tears  rolled  down  the 
wrinkled  cheeks  of  Mrs.  Cassidy. 

"Not  so,"  replied  Miss  Herriott;  and  taking 
Lilly's  hand,  she  placed  it  in  Edward's.  "  And  now," 
continued  the  amiable  girl,  "  kneel  for  the  blessing 
that  ascends  to  the  throne  of  the  Almighty  like  a 
sweet-smelling  savour — the  blessing  of  an  honest 
parent."  They  dropped  on  their  knees,  and  Mrs. 
Cassidy  pressed  them  to  her  satisfied  heart. 

"  And  sure  that's  as  good  as  a  play,"  blubbered 
Peggy. 

"  Well,  Peggy,  you  shall  see  a  play,  if  you  please, 
to-morrow  evening  ;  but  first  I  invite  you  to  Lilly's 
wedding,  which  will  take  place  to-morrow  at  four 
o'clock,  in  our  great  drawing-room,  agreeably  to  the 
forms  of  the  Catholic  church,  by  a  Catholic  priest. 
Nay,  Lilly,  it  is  the  last  time  I  shall  ever  command 
you;  so  I  bid  you  all  farewell  for  the  present." 


BOTHERED 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,  R.S.A. 


m 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  281 

And  the  good,  and  kind,  and  generous  young  lady 
left  them  to  their  "  own  company " :  which,  it  is 
scarcely  necessary  to  say,  was  not  very  doleful  or 
wretched ;  for  although  the  heart  of  one  of  the 
party  was  too  full  for  words,  ample  amends  was 
made  for  her  silence  by  the  ever-talkative  Peggy. 

At  three-quarters  of  an  hour  past  three  (I  love  to 
be  exact  in  these  matters),  Miss  Herriott  inspected 
her  company  in  the  back  drawing-room.  The  ar- 
rangements for  the  ceremony  highly  amused  her. 
First,  Mrs.  Cassidy,  in  an  open  rose-coloured  poplin 
dress,  as  stiff  as  buckram,  with  tight  sleeves  reach- 
ing to  the  elbows,  where  they  were  met  by  white 
mittens,  that  had  been  the  gift  of  Miss  Herriott's 
grandmother,  and  which  the  old  lady  prized  so 
highly  that  they  had  only  twice  seen  the  light  in 
twenty  years ;  a  blue  satin  quilted  petticoat,  ditto, 
ditto ;  a  white  muslin  apron  flounced  all  round ; 
high-heeled  shoes,  with  massy  silver  buckles;  a 
clean  kerchief,  pinned  in  the  fashion  that  used  to  be 
called  "pigeon's  craw,"  and  a  high-cauled  cap, 
trimmed  with  rich  lace,  completed  her  costume. 
Peggy  sported  a  large  flowered  chintz,  whereon 
pink  parrots,  yellow  goldfinches,  and  bunches  of 
roses  bigger  than  either  goldfinch  or  parrot,  clustered 
together  in  open  defiance  of  nature  and  the  arts  : 
this  was  made  after  Mrs.  Cassidy's  pattern,  and  dis- 
played to  advantage  a  pea-green  English  stuff 
petticoat,  quilted  in  diamonds.  There  was  little 
variation  from  Mrs.  Cassidy's  fashion  in  the  other 
et  ceteras,  except  that  Peggy  wore  a  flaming  yellow 


282  IRISH   LIFE  AND   CHARACTER 

silk  shawl,  with  a  blue  border,  that,  to  use  her  own 
expression,  "  matched  everything." 

Lilly  looked  beautiful — most  beautiful.  Miss 
Herriott  dressed  her  as  she  pleased  :  in  white — pure 
white ;  would  not  permit  her  to  wear  a  cap,  but  let 
her  hair  curl  after  its  own  fashion,  only  confining  it 
with  a  wreath  of  lilies  of  the  valley. 

There  is  no  use  in  describing  Edward's  dress  ;  all 
bridegrooms,  I  believe,  wear  blue  coats  with  yellow 
buttons  and  white  waistcoats.  The  little  Lucy  had 
a  clean  white  frock,  and  a  lobster's  claw  to  keep 
her  quiet. 

Oh,  what  a  happy  group  of  humble  people  were 
assembled  in  that  gay  drawing-room  !  Mrs.  Cassidy 
— the  desire  of  her  heart  gratified,  the  hope  of  years 
realised,  the  fervent  and  continual  prayer  answered 
— Mrs.  Cassidy  was,  beyond  doubt,  the  happiest  of 
them  all,  as  she  sat,  with  her  cheerful  and  grateful 
face,  contemplating  her  "  two  children." 

"  Ye' re  both  too  handsome  and  too  good  for  me," 
whispered  Ned,  as  he  conducted  Lilly  to  the  great 
drawing-room,  closely  followed  by  her  condescend- 
ing bridemaid.  Lilly  curtesied  as  she  entered,  but 
did  not  look  off  the  ground  until  an  exclamation  of 
surprise  from  the  bridegroom  roused  her  attention, 
and  she  saw — Harry  Connor  ! — Father  Harry  ! — 
ready  to  perform  the  marriage  ceremony. 

"  It  is  even  your  old  friend,"  said  he,  advancing. 
"  Mr.  Herriott,  at  my  request,  consented  to  my  sur- 
prising you.  Ned,  when  I  give  you  this  girl  as 
your  wife,  I  give  you  one  whom  no  earthly  feeling 


LILLY  O'BRIEN  283 

could  tempt  from  the  path  of  strict  honour.  She 
told  me  once  that  her  hand  should  never  go  without 
her  heart,  and  your  being  together  proves  you  have 
it.  A  blessing  will  she  be  to  thee,  my  early  friend." 
A  single  tear  glistened  on  his  cheek  as  he  pro- 
nounced the  words  that  made  them  husband  and 
wife — it  was  a  tear  of  which  a  seraph  might  not 
have  been  ashamed. 

Four  years  have  passed  since  that  happy  mar- 
riage ;  and  can  you  not  tell  who — seeking  to  ab- 
stract herself  from  household  cares  and  blessings, 
only  that  she  may  render  grateful  homage  to  her 
Creator — sits  after  evening  vespers,  with  clasped 
hands  and  downcast  eyes,  her  national  hood  shading, 
but  not  obscuring,  the  beauty  of  her  pensive  face, 
near  yonder  cottage,  that  looks  so  joyously  in  the 
setting  sun  which  sheds  such  glorious  light  over  the 
ocean,  that  reflects  every  passing  cloud  upon  its 
calm,  clear  bosom?  See  her  again,  within  the 
porch  of  her  dwelling,  where  the  flowers  are 
blossoming,  and  where  she  has  other  blossoms 
than  the  flowers  give.  She  is  approaching  the 
bloom  of  womanhood  ;  yet  grace  is  in  all  her  move- 
ments. Her  kerchief  is  carefully  pinned  across  her 
bosom,  and  two  or  three  rich  auburn  tresses,  that 
obstinately  come  forth,  and  will  not  be  confined  by 
the  neat  cap  of  snowy  whiteness,  move  in  the  pass- 
ing breeze.  That  dark-eyed  and  dark-haired  little 
girl,  buoyant  and  animated,  cannot  be  her  child  : 
yet  it  clings  to  her  neck,  and  calls  her  "  mother." 


284  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

There — the  honest  farmer,  returning  from  his  toil, 
is  met  by  two  almost  infant  prattlers, — the  youngest 
a  perfect  specimen  of  childish  helplessness  and 
beauty, — and  peering  from  the  window  is  the 
hardly  altered  face  of — Mrs.  Cassidy. 

Oh,  that  voice ! — It  is  Peggy's — old  Peggy — as 
she  is  still  called,  "  Peggy  the  Fisher."  She  has 
"  a  good  penny  o'  money  of  her  own,"  and  some- 
times visits  around  the  neighbourhood ;  but  she  is 
so  strongly  attached  to  the  family  to  whom  the 
cottage  belongs  that  she  almost  resides  there. 

"  Och,  ye  craturs,  like  fairy  things,  come  in  to  the 
tay  ! — Sure  it's  not  fit  for  the  likes  o'  ye  to  be  mud- 
dling in  the  grass,  even  after  yer  daddy,  ye  born 
blossoms  ! — ye  bames  o'  joy ! — ye  comforts  o'  the 
ould  'ooman's  heart ! — Come,  all  o'  ye,  to  your  own 
Peggy.  Och !  'tis  myself  must  set  about,  fair  and 
asy,  to  make  my  sowl,  and  not  be  passing  my  time, 
like  the  flowers  in  May,  wid  the  young  blossoms  of 
THE  BANNOW  LILLY." 


"TAKE  IT  ASY" 

"  All  ye  can  do  with  him,  Aileen,  when  he  gets 
into  those  humours,  is — to  take  it  asy." 

"  Take  it  asy,  indeed  !  "  repeated  the  pretty  bride, 
with  a  toss  of  her  head  and  a  curl  of  her  lip ;  "  it's 
asy  to  say  take  it  asy.  I'm  sure  if  I  had  thought 
Mark  was  so  passionate,  I'd  have  married  Mike !" 

"  But  Mike  was  mighty  dark,"  replied  old  aunt 
Alice,  with  a  mysterious  shake  of  her  head. 

"  Well,  so  he  was :  but  then  I  might  have  had 
Matthew." 

"  Ah  !  ah  ! "  laughed  old  Alice ;  "  he  was  the  worst 
bird  of  the  nest!  Look,  ye  can  wind  Mark  round 
yer  finger,  as  I  wind  this  worsted  thread — if  ye'll 
only  take  it  asy" 

"  Oh !  I  wish,  I  wish  I  had  known  before  that 
men  were  so  ill-contrived !  I'd  have  died  sooner 
than  have  married,"  sobbed  Aileen ;  who,  to  confess 
the  truth,  had  been  so  much  petted  by  the  neigh- 
bours, on  account  of  her  beauty,  that  it  would  have 
required  a  large  proportion  of  love,  and  a  moderate 
allowance  of  wisdom,  to  change  the  village  coquette 
into  a  sober  wife. 

"  Ah,  whisht,  avourneen  ! "  said  Alice.     "  Sure  I 
285 


286  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

tould  ye  all  along.  '  Mark,'  says  I,  '  is  all  fire  and 
tow — but  it's  out  in  a  minute ;  Mike  is  dark,  and 
deep  as  the  bay  of  Dublin  ;  and  Matthew  is  all  to 
the  bad  intirely.'  You've  got  the  best  of  the  three. 
And  ye  can  manage  him  just  as  the  south  wind 
that's  blowing  now  manages  the  thistle-down  that's 
floating  through  the  air — if  yd II  take  it  asy" 

At  first  Aileen  pouted,  then  she  sat  down  to  her 
wheel ;  was  too  much  out  of  temper  to  do  what  she 
was  doing  well — broke  her  thread — pushed  it  from 
her ;  took  up  her  knitting — dropped  the  stitches — 
shook  the  needles — and,  of  course,  dropped  some 
more. 

"  Take  it  asy"  said  aunt  Alice,  looking  at  her, 
over  her  spectacles. 

Aileen  flung  the  knitting  away,  clasped  her  arms 
round  her  aunt's  neck,  rested  her  head  on  her 
bosom,  and  wept  outright. 

"  Let's  go  into  the  garden,  sit  under  the  ould  lime 
tree,  and  watch  the  bees  that  are  near  swarming," 
observed  aunt  Alice,  "and  we'll  talk  yer  trouble  over, 
avourneen.  It's  very  sorry  I  am  to  see  ye  taking 
on  so  for  a  thrifle,  at  the  first  going  off".  But  you'll 
know  better  by-'n-by,  when  real  troubles  come." 

Poor  Aileen,  like  all  young  people,  thought  her 
troubles  were  very  real.  Observing  the  bees  more 
than  usually  busy,  she  muttered,  "  I  wonder,  aunt, 
you  don't  tell  the  bees  to  take  it  asy." 

"  So  I  would,  dear,  if  I  saw  them  quarrelling :  but 
they  are  too  wise  to  quarrel  among  themselves, 
whatever  they  do  \v\\hfurriners.  They  fly  together, 


"TAKE   IT  ASY"  287 

live  together,  sing  together,  work  together,  and  have 
but  the  one  object  and  aim  in  life.  Ah,  then,  many's 
the  good  lesson  we  may  learn  from  the  bees,  besides 
that  which  teaches  us  bring  all  that's  good  and  use- 
ful to  our  own  homes."  The  old  woman  paused, 
and  then  added,  "  Sit  ye  down  here,  my  child,  and 
listen  to  what  I'm  going  to  tell  ye.  Ye  know  well, 
avourneen,  I  was  lawfully  married,  first,  by  ould 
Father  John,  to  Richard  Mulvaney — my  heart's  first 
love  he  was  ;  heaven  be  his  bed.  this  blessed  day, 
and  grant  we  may  meet  above  the  world  and  its  real 
troubles !  Aileen,  it  was,  indeed,  a  trouble  to  see 
my  brave,  young,  handsome  husband  dragged  out 
of  the  blue  waters  of  the  Shannon ;  to  find  that, 
when  I  called,  he  could  not  answer ;  when  I  wept, 
he  could  not  comfort :  that  my  cheek  rested  for  hours 
on  his  lips,  and  he  did  not  kiss  it ;  and  that  never 
more,  in  this  world,  would  I  hear  his  sweet  and 
loving  voice ! " 

Fourscore  years  and  five  had  passed  over  the  head 
of  that  woman,  and  her  age  was  as  beautiful,  accord- 
ing to  its  beauty,  as  had  been  her  youth.  She  had 
been  married  three  times  ;  yet  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears  at  the  remembrance  of  the  love  and  sorrow  of 
her  early  days,  and  it  was  some  time  before  she 
could  continue. 

"  Well,  dear,  one  day  Richard  and  I  had  some 
little  tiff,  and  1  said  more  than  I  ought  to  have  said. 
And  it  was,  by  the  same  token,  a  fine  midsummer 
morning.  I  strayed  out  to  our  garden,  and  picked 
up  a  shiny  snail ;  and  as  I  looked  at  the  snail,  I  re- 


288  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

membered  how,  the  last  midsummer  day,  I  had  put 
just  such  another  between  two  plates,  and  sat  for  an 
hour  by  the  rising  sun,  with  the  forefinger  of  my  left 
hand  crossed  over  the  forefinger  of  my  right  hand ; 
and  then,  as  thrue  as  life,  when  I  lifted  the  plate,  the 
thing  had  marked  as  purty  an  R  and  a  piece  of  as 
beautiful  an  M  as  the  schoolmaster  himself  could 
write  upon  the  plate.  And  I  cried  to  remember  how 
glad  I  was  then,  and  how  sad  now ;  and  at  last  I 
cried  myself  to  sleep.  Alanna  machree !  T  was 
little  more  than  a  child — not  all  out  sixteen.  Well, 
dear,  in  my  drame,  I  suppose  I  must  call  it,  I  saw 
the  beautifullest  fairy  (the  Lord  save  us  !) — the  very 
handsomest  of  the  good  people  that  ever  the  eyes 
of  woman  looked  upon — a  little  deeshy-dawshy 
craythur,  footing  it  away  all  round  the  blossom  of 
a  snow-white  lily :  now  twirling  round  upon  the  tip 
of  her  tiny  toe ;  then,  as  if  she  was  joining  hands 
round,  down  the  middle  and  up  again,  to  the  tune 
of  the  '  Rakes  of  Mallow.' " 

"  The  '  Rakes  of  Mallow' !  "  exclaimed  Aileen. 

"The  'Rakes  of  Mallow'!"  repeated  Alice 
solemnly.  "  I  heard  it  as  plain  as  I  hear  the  rising 
march  of  the  bees  at  this  blessed  minute.  Well,  of 
a  sudden,  she  made  a  spring,  and  stood  upright  as 
a  dart  upon  the  green  and  goulden  crown,  in  the 
very  midst  of  the  flower,  and  pushed  back  her  ring- 
lets, and  settled  her  dress  at  a  pocket  looking-glass 
not  so  big  as  a  midge's  wing.  Then,  all  in  a  minute, 
she  looked  at  me  and  said,  '  I  don't  like  the  sight 
of  a  wet  eye — what  ails  ye,  young  woman  ? ' 


"TAKE   IT   ASY"  289 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  my  heart  came  to  my  lips ;  but 
I  had  too  much  manners  not  to  answer  the  great 
lady ;  and, '  Madam,'  said  I,  '  my  eyes  would  be  as 
dry,  though  not  so  bright  as  yer  honour's,  if  it  wasn't 
for  my  husband,  who  wants  to  have  a  way  and  a 
will  of  his  own/ 

" '  It's  the  way  with  all  the  men,  my  own  husband 
into  the  bargain,'  says  the  queen,  for  she  was  no 
less ;  '  and  there's  no  use  fighting  for  the  upper 
hand,'  says  the  queen,  '  for  both  the  law  and  the 
prophets  are  against  us  in  that ;  and  if  it  comes  to 
open  war,'  says  the  queen,  '  we  get  the  worst  of  it : 
if  your  husband  falls  into  a  bad  temper,  or  a  queer 
temper, — if  he  is  cross,  or  unkind,  or  odd, — take  it 
asy,'  says  the  queen, '  even  if  he  does  not  come  round 
at  once.  This  quiet  way  of  yours  will  put  you  in 
his  heart,  or  him  at  your  feet — which  is  pretty  much 
the  same  thing — at  last :  gentleness  does  wonders 
for  us  women  in  Fairy-land.  It  has  great  strength 
intirely,  in  the  hands  of  a  purty  woman — and  you 
are  very  purty  for  a  mortal,'  says  she  again,  looking 
at  me  through  the  eye  of  a  heart's-ease,  which  she 
wore  about  her  neck  for  a  quizzing-glass. 

" '  I  thank  you,  my  sweet  and  beautiful  lady,'  says 
I,  '  for  your  compliment.' 

" '  Ah !  ah ! '  and  she  laughed,  and  her  laugh  was  full 
of  joy  and  hope,  like  the  music  of  the  priest's  own 
silver  bell.  '  It's  no  harm,'  she  continued, '  if  now  and 
then  you  give  him  a  taste  of  that  which  makes  your 
eyes  so  bright  and  your  cheeks  so  red,  just  now.' 

" '  What's  that,  madam  ? '  says  I. 


290  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

" '  Flattery/  says  she.  '  Make  a  man,  be  he  fairy 
or  be  he  mortal,  pleased  with  himself,  and  he  is 
sure  to  be  pleased  with  you.'  And  then  she 
laughed  again.  '  Whatever  he  says  or  does,'  says 
her  majesty,  while  she  was  getting  into  a  goulden 
saddle,  on  the  back  of  a  great  dragon-fly,  dressed 
in  a  beautiful  jacket  and  gown  of  green  velvet,  with 
a  silver  riding-whip  in  her  hand,  *  take  it  asy,'  says 
she ;  and  I  heard  her  laugh  and  sing  when  she  was 
out  of  sight,  and  her  sweet  voice  shook  a  shower  of 
white  rose-leaves,  from  a  bush,  on  my  face.  And 
when  I  awoke,  I  saw  the  wisdom  of  her  words,  and 
I  kept  them  close  in  my  own  bosom ;  and  often, 
when  I'd  be  just  going  to  make  a  sharp  answer  to 
him  I  loved,  I'd  think  of  the  fairy's  word,  and  the 
evil  would  pass  from  my  heart  and  lips  without  a 
sound — no  one  the  worse  for  it,  and  I  all  the 
better.  And  sure  Richard  used  to  say  I  was  like 
an  angel  to  him.  Poor  fellow !  he  was  soon  to  be 
taught  the  differ,  for  the  angels  took  him  from  me 
in  earnest ! 

"  After  a  couple  of  years  I  married  again.  I've 
no  reason  to  fault  the  second  I  had ;  though  he  was 
not  gentle,  like  him  who  sighed  out  his  soul  in  the 
blue  waters :  he  was  dark,  and  would  not  tell  what 
offended  him.  Well,  I'd  have  given  the  world  to 
have  had  some  one  to  whom  I  could  make  a  clean 
breast ;  but  I  had  none  ;  and,  somehow,  I  again 
sat  in  the  same  spot,  at  the  same  time — again  slept 
— and  again  saw  the  same  one  of  the  good  people. 
I  did  not  think  her  honour  was  as  gay  as  she  had 


"TAKE   IT  ASY"  291 

been,  and  I  wondered  in  my  heart  if  she,  too,  had 
taken  a  second  husband.  It  would  not  have  been 
manners  for  me  to  spake  first,  but  she  was  as  free 
as  ever. 

"'Well,'  she  says,  looking  at  me,  'you've  tried 
another ;  but  though  you  have  not  forgotten  my 
advice,  you  do  not  follow  it." 

" '  Oh,  my  lady,  plase  yer  majesty,'  says  I,  '  the 
tempers  of  the  two  do  so  differ ! '  and  I  thought 
with  the  words  my  heart  would  break  :  for  the 
moment  poor  Richard's  humour  was  out,  it  was 
off;  but  James  would  sulk  and  sulk,  like  a  bramble 
under  the  shade  of  an  oak  :  and  the  fairy  read  my 
thoughts  as  if  they  were  an  open  ballad.  '  This 
one  is  dark,  my  lady,  and  gets  into  the  sulks,  and 
is  one  that  I  can't  manage,  good  or  bad ;  not  all 
as  one  as  it  was  with  my  first  husband,  plase  yer 
majesty ;  for  when  we  had  a  tiff,  it  was  soon  over 
— God  help  me,  so  it  used  to  be ;  but  this  one  sits 
in  a  corner,  and  never  speaks  a  word,  not  even  to 
the  cat.' 

" '  Ah,'  said  she, '  they  are  different ;  but  the  rule 
holds  good — gentle  and  simple — hot  and  cold — old 
and  young — you  must  take  them  asy,  or  you'll 
never  be  asy  yourself.  Let  a  passionate  temper 
cool ;  don't  blow  upon  it — a  breath  may  ruffle  a 
lake,  and  kindle  a  fire.  Let  a  sulky  temper  alone, 
it  is  a  standing  pool ;  the  more  it  is  stirred,  the 
more  it  will  offend.'  I  try  to  talk  her  fine  English, 
Aileen,  but  it  bothers  me,"  continued  old  Alice. 
"  Well,  the  end  of  it  was,  that  she  finished  as  before, 


2Q2  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

by  telling  me  to  take  it  asy;  which,  after  that,  I 
did  ;  and  I  must  say  that  James's  last  breath  was 
spent  in  blessing  me.  Well,  dear,  Miles  Pender- 
grast  was  rich,  and  I  was  poor;  he  wanted  a 
mother  for  five  children  and  a  servant  for  himself, 
and  he  took  me.  This  was  the  worst  case  of  the 
three.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  love — young, 
fresh,  heart-sweet  love  to  the  first ;  and  more  than 
is  going,  in  general,  to  the  second :  but  oh,  my 
grief!  there  was  none  to  the  third.  Oh,  but 
marriage  to  a  woman  without  love !  what  is  it  ? 
Where  love  is,  it  is  even  pleasant  to  bear  a  harsh 
word  or  look — a  satisfaction  that  you  can  show 
your  love,  by  turning  bitter  to  sweet.  Service  is 
no  service  then — his  voice  is  your  music — his  very 
shadow  on  the  ground  yer  brightest  sunshine !  " 

"  Aunt,"  said  Aileen,  "  you  did  not  think  that 
with  the  first,  at  the  time,  or  you  would  not  have 
wanted  the  good  people's  advice." 

"  True  for  ye,  avourneen :  we  never  value  the 
sunbeams  so  much  as  in  the  dark  of  the  moonless 
night ;  we  never  value  a  friend's  advice  until  he  is 
beyond  our  reach;  we  never  prize  the  husband's 
love,  or  the  mother's  care,  until  the  grave  has 
closed  over  them ;  and  when  we  seek  them  there 
the  grass  that  we  weep  over  is  green,  the  mallow 
and  the  dock  have  covered  the  cross  or  the  head- 
stone, and  the  red  earth-worms  we  have  disturbed 
bring  us  no  message." 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more,  aunt,"  said 
Aileen,  pained  by  the  picture  her  aunt  had  drawn  ; 


"TAKE   IT   ASY"  293 

"  now  I'll  own  to  the  first  of  the  quarrel,  and  the 
last  word  of  it,  if  Mark  will  confess  to  the  middle." 

"  Let  a  quarrel  alone,  when  once  it's  over," 
interrupted  her  aunt.  "  A  quarrel,  darlint,  is  like 
buttermilk — when  once  it  is  out  of  the  churn,  the 
more  you  shake  it,  the  more  sour  it  grows." 

"And  must  I  say  nothing  when  he  comes 
home  ? " 

"  Oh  yes ;   say,  '  Mark,  my  heart's  delight ! ' " 

"  Oh,  aunt,  that  would  never  do  ! " 

"  Well,  if  ye're  ashamed  to  say  what  you  feel,  a 
smile  and  a  kiss  will  do  as  well.  And  a  smile  and 
a  kiss  will  work  wonders,  darling,  if  the  heart  goes 
with  them  ;  but  if  they  are  only  given  because 
they're  dutiful  gifts,  ah!  they  fall  like  a  snow- 
wreath  upon  the  spring-flower,  chilling  and  crush- 
ing, instead  of  warming  and  cheering.  Not  but 
duty's  a  fine  thing ;  but  it's  dark  and  heavy  to  a 
married  woman  when  there  is  no  back  of  love 
to  it." 

"  Did  the  fairy  queen  give  you  the  same  advice 
the  third  time  ? "  said  the  bride,  blushing  like 
Aurora  at  Alice's  counsel ;  "  for  I  suppose  you  saw 
her  the  third  time " 

"  I  must  say,  achora,  she  wasn't  so  civil  to  me 
the  last  time  as  she  was  the  first  and  second," 
answered  the  old  dame,  bridling.  "  She  tould  me 
I  wasn't  as  purty  as  I  used  to  be — that  was  true 
enough,  to  be  sure,  only  one  never  likes  to  hear  it ; 
she  tould  me  that,  when  the  bloom  of  a  woman's 
cheek  fades,  the  bloom  of  her  heart  ought  to 


294  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

increase ;  she  talked  a  deal,  that  I  did  not  quite 
understand,  about  men  making  laws  and  breaking 
them  ;  and  how  every  one  has  a  thorn  of  some  kind 
or  other  to  bear  with :  she  tould  me  how  hard  it 
was  to  find  three  roses  in  a  garden  all  of  the  same 
shape,  colour,  and  scent,  and  how  could  I  expect 
three  good  husbands?  She  said  that,  as  I  had 
borne  my  crown,  I  must  bear  my  cross ;  she  was 
hard  enough  upon  me ;  but  the  winding-up  of  her 
advice  to  me,  in  all  my  troubles,  was  to  take  it  asy  ; 
she  said  she  had  been  married  herself  more  than 
five  hundred  years." 

"The  ould  craythur!  and  to  talk  of  your  not 
having  been  so  purty  as  you  were !  "  said  Aileen. 

"Hush,  avourneen  !  Sure  they  have  the  use  of 
the  May -dew  before  it  falls,  and  the  colour  of  the 
lilies  and  the  roses  before  it's  folded  in  the  tender 
buds ;  and  can  steal  the  notes  out  of  the  birds' 
throats  while  they  sleep." 

"  And  still,"  exclaimed  Aileen,  half  pouting, "  the 
best  advice  they  can  give  to  a  married  woman,  in 
her  trouble,  is — to  take  it  asy !  " 

"  It's  a  sensible  saying,  if  properly  thought  of," 
said  old  Alice,  "  and  will  bring  peace,  if  not  love,  at 
the  last.  If  we  can't  get  rid  of  our  troubles,  it's 
wise  to  TAKE  THEM  ASY." 


MASTER   BEN 

TALL  and  gaunt  and  stately  was  "  Master  Ben," 
with  a  thin  sprinkling  of  white  mingled  with  the 
slightly  curling  brown  hair  that  shaded  a  forehead 
high  and  somewhat  narrow.  With  all  my  par- 
tiality for  this  very  respectable  personage,  I  must 
confess  that  his  physiognomy  was  neither  handsome 
nor  interesting;  yet  there  was  a  calm  and  gentle 
expression  in  his  pale  grey  eyes  that  told  of  much 
kind-heartedness — even  to  the  meanest  of  God's 
creatures.  His  steps  were  strides ;  his  voice  shrill, 
like  a  boatswain's  whistle ;  and  his  learning — pro- 
digious ! — the  unrivalled  dominie  of  the  country  for 
five  miles  round  was  Master  Ben. 

Although  the  cabin  of  Master  Ben  was  built  of 
the  blue  shingle,  so  common  along  the  eastern 
coast  of  Ireland,  and  was  perched,  like  the  nest 
of  a  hawk,  on  one  of  the  highest  crags  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Bannow;  although  the  aforesaid 
Master  Ben,  or  (as  he  was  called  by  the  gentry) 
"  Mister  Benjamin,"  had  worn  a  long  black  coat 
for  a  period  of  fourteen  years — in  summer,  as  an 
open  surtout,  which  flapped  heavily  in  the  gay 
sea  breeze — and  in  winter,  firmly  secured,  by  a 


296  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

large  wooden  pin,  round  his  throat — the  dominie 
was  a  person  of  much  consideration,  and  more 
loved  than  feared,  even  by  the  little  urchins  who 
often  felt  the  effects  of  his  "  system  of  education." 
Do  not,  therefore,  for  a  moment,  imagine  that  his 
was  one  of  the  paltry  hedge-schools,  where  all  the 
brats  contribute  their  "  sod  o'  turf,"  or  "  their  small 
trifle  o'  pratees,"  to  the  schoolmaster's  fire  or  board. 
No  such  thing ; — though  I  confess  that  "  Mister 
Benjamin"  would,  occasionally,  accept  "a  hand 
of  pork,"  a  kreel,  or  even  a  kish  of  turf,  or  three  or 
four  hundred  of  "  white  eyes,"  or  "  London  ladies," 
if  they  were  presented,  in  a  proper  manner,  by  the 
parents  of  his  favourite  pupils. 

In  summer,  indeed,  he  would,  occasionally,  lead 
his  pupils  into  the  open  air,  permitting  the  biggest 
of  them  to  bring  his  chair  of  state ;  and  while  the 
fresh  ocean  breeze  played  around  them,  he  would 
teach  them  all  he  knew — and  that  was  not  a  little ; 
but  usually  he  considered  his  lessons  more  effec- 
tual when  they  were  learned  under  his  roof;  and 
it  was,  in  truth,  a  pleasing  sight  to  view  his  cottage 
assemblage,  on  a  fresh  summer  morning; — such 
rosy,  laughing,  romping  things!  "The  juniors," 
with  their  rich  curly  heads,  red  cheeks,  and  bright, 
dancing  eyes,  seated  in  tolerably  straight  lines — 
many  on  narrow  strips  of  blackened  deal — the 
remnants,  probably,  of  some  shipwrecked  vessel — 
supported  at  either  end  by  fragments  of  grey  rock ; 
others  on  portions  of  the  rock  itself,  that  Master 
Ben  used  to  say  "though  not  very  asy  to  sit 


MASTER   BEN  297 

upon  for  the  gossoons,  were  clane,  and  not  much 
trouble."  "The  seniors,"  fine,  clever-looking  fel- 
lows, intent  on  their  sums  or  copies — either  standing 
at,  or  leaning  on,  the  blotted  "  desks  "  that  extended 
along  two  sides  of  the  schoolroom,  kitchen,  or 
whatever  you  may  please  to  call  so  purely  Irish 
an  apartment :  the  chimney  admitted  a  large  por- 
tion of  storm  or  sunshine,  as  might  chance;  but 
the  low  wooden  partition,  which  divided  this  useful 
room  from  the  sleeping  part  of  the  cabin,  at  once 
told  that  Master  Ben's  dwelling  was  of  a  superior 
order. 

At  four  the  dominie  always  dismissed  his 
assembly,  and  heart-cheering  was  the  joy  that 
succeeded.  On  the  long  summer  evenings  the 
merry  groups  would  scramble  down  the  cliffs — 
which  in  many  places  overhang  the  wide-spreading 
ocean — heedless  of  danger — 

"And  jump,  and  laugh,  and  shout,  and  clap  their  hands 
In  noisy  merriment." 

The  seniors  then  commenced  lobster  and  crab- 
hunting,  and  often  showed  much  dexterity  in 
hooking  the  gentlemen  out  of  their  rocky  nests 
with  a  long,  crooked  stick  of  elder,  which  they 
considered  "  lucky."  The  younkers  were  generally 
content  with  shrimping,  or  knocking  the  limpets — 
or,  as  they  call  them,  the  "branyans" — off  the 
rocks ;  while  the  wee-wee  ones  slyly  watched  the 
ascent  of  the  razor-fish,  whose  deep  den  they 
easily  discovered  by  its  tiny  mountain  of  sand. 


298  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

Even  during  their  hours  of  amusement  Master 
Ben  was  anxious  for  their  welfare,  and,  enthroned 
on  a  high  pinnacle  that  commanded  a  boundless 
view  of  the  wide-spreading  sea,  with  its  numerous 
creeks  and  bays,  he  would  patiently  sit,  hour  after 
hour — one  eye  fixed  on  some  dirty,  wise  old  book 
while  the  other  watched  the  various  schemes  and 
scampings  of  his  quondam  pupils — until  the  fading 
rays  of  the  setting  sun  and  the  shrill  screams  of 
the  sea-birds  warned  master  and  scholar  of  the 
coming  night. 

Every  one  agreed  that  Master  Ben  was  very 
learned,  but  how  he  became  so  was  what  nobody 
could  tell :  some  said  (for  there  are  scandalmongers 
in  every  village)  that,  long  ago,  Master  Ben's  father 
was  convicted  of  treasonable  practices,  and  obliged 
to  fly  to  "  foreign  parts  "  to  save  his  life ;  his  child 
was  the  companion  of  his  wanderings,  according 
to  this  statement.  But  there  was  another,  far  more 
probable, — that  our  dominie  had  been  a  poor 
scholar — a  class  of  students  peculiar,  I  believe,  to 
Ireland,  who  travel  from  province  to  province,  with 
satchels  on  their  backs,  containing  books,  and 
whatever  provisions  are  given  them,  and  devote 
their  time  to  study  and  begging.  The  poorest 
peasant  will  share  his  last  potato  with  a  wandering 
scholar,  and  there  is  always  a  couch  of  clean  straw 
prepared  for  him  in  the  warmest  corner  of  an  Irish 
cabin.  Be  these  surmises  true  or  false,  everybody 
allowed  that  Master  Ben  was  the  most  clever 
schoolmaster  between  Bannow  and  Dublin :  he 


MASTER  BEN  299 

would  correct  even  Father  Sinnott,  "  on  account 
o'  the  bog  Latin  his  reverence  used  at  the  altar 
itself."  "  His  reverence"  always  took  this  in  good 
part,  laughed  at  it,  but  never  omitted  adding,  slyly, 
"  The  poor  crathur ! — he  thinks  he  knows  better  than 
me ! "  I  must  say  that  the  laugh  which  concluded 
this  sentence  was  much  more  joyous  than  that  at 
the  commencement. 

The  dominie's  life  passed  very  smoothly,  and  with 
apparent  comfort; — strange  as  it  may  sound  to 
English  ears — comfort.  A  mild,  half-witted  sister, 
who  might  be  called  his  shadow — so  silently  and 
calmly  did  she  follow  his  steps,  and  do  all  that 
could  be  done  to  make  the  only  being  she  loved 
happy — shared  his  dwelling.  The  potatoes  she 
planted,  dug,  and  picked  with  her  own  hands; 
milked  and  tended  "  Nanny "  and  "  Jenny,"  two 
pretty,  merry  goats,  who  not  only  devoured  the 
wild  heather  and  fragrant  thyme  which  literally 
cover  the  sandbanks  and  hills  of  Bannow,  but 
made  sundry  trespasses  on  the  flower-beds  at  the 
"  great  house,"  and  defied  pound,  tether,  and  fetter 
with  the  most  roguish  and  provoking  impudence. 
I  had  almost  forgotten — but  she  small-plaited  in 
a  superior  and  extraordinary  manner;  and — poor 
thing! — she  was  as  vain  of  that  qualification  as 
any  lady  who  rumbles  over  the  keys  of  a  grand 
piano  and  then  triumphantly  informs  the  audience 
that  she  has  played  "  The  Storm." 

"  Changeful  are  all  the  scenes  of  life,"  says  some- 
body or  other  ;  and  when  I  was  about  ten  years 


300  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

old,  Master  Ben  underwent  two  very  severe 
trials — trials  the  poor  man  never  anticipated :  one 
was  teaching,  or  trying  to  teach,  me  the  multiplica- 
tion table — an  act  no  mortal  man  (or  woman  either) 
ever  could  accomplish ;  the  other  was — falling  in 
love.  As  Master  Ben  was  the  best  arithmetician 
in  the  county,  he  was  the  person  fixed  on  to  instruct 
me  in  the  most  puzzling  science — no  small  compli- 
ment, I  assure  you — and  he  was  obliged  to  arrange, 
so  as  to  leave  his  pupils  twice  a  week  for  two  long 
hours.  Master  Ben  rose  in  estimation  surprisingly 
when  this  was  known ;  and,  on  the  strength 
of  it,  got  twopence  instead  of  three-halfpence  a 
week  from  his  best  scholars :  he  thought  he  should 
also  gain  credit  by  his  new  pupil's  progress.  How 
vain  are  man's  imaginings  !  From  the  first  intima- 
tion I  received  of  the  intended  visits  of  my  tutor, 
I  felt  a  most  lively  anticipation  of  much  fun  and 
mischief. 

"  Now,  Miss  dear,  don't  be  full  o'  yer  tricks,"  said 
pretty  Peggy  O'Dell,  who  had  the  especial  care  of 
my  person.  "  Now,  Miss  dear,  stand  asy — you 
won't? — well,  then,  I'll  not  tell  ye  the  news — no, 
not  a  word  !  Oh,  ye're  asy  now,  are  ye  !  Well, 
then — to-morrow,  Frank  tells  me,  Master  Ben  is  to 
come  to  tache  you  the  figures ;  and  good  rason  has 
Frank  to  know,  for  he  druv  the  carriage  to  Master 
Ben's  own  house,  and  hard  the  mistress  say  all 
about  it ;  and  that  was  the  rason  ye  were  left  at 
home,  mavourneen,  with  your  own  Peggy ;  because 
the  ladies  wished  to  keep  it  all  sacret  like,  till  they'd 


MASTER   BEN  3<DI 

tell  ye  their  own  selves.  Oh,  Miss  dear,  asy — asy 
— till  I  tie  yer  sash  ! — there  now — now  you  may 
run  off;  but  stay  one  little  minit — take  kindly  to 
the  figures.  I  know  you  can't  abide  them  now,  but 
I  hear  they  are  main  useful ;  and  take  to  it  asy — 
as  quiet  as  you  can.  Master  Ben  has  fine  laming, 
and  expicts  much  credit  for  tacheing  the  likes  of  you. 
And  why  not?" 

Poor  Benjamin ! — he  certainly  did  stride  to  the 
Manor,  and  into  the  study,  next  morning;  and,  in 
due  time,  I  worked  through,  that  is,  I  wrote  out  the 
questions,  and  copied  the  sums,  with  surprising 
dexterity,  in  "  numeration,"  "  addition  of  integers," 
"  compound  subtraction,"  and  entered  the  "  single 
rule  of  three  direct,"  with  much  falat.  My  book 
was  shown,  divested  of  its  blots  by  my  kind  master's 
enduring  knife ;  and  even  my  cousin  (the  only 
arithmetician  in  the  family)  was  compelled  to 
acknowledge  that,  if  I  did  the  sums  myself,  I  was  a 
very  good  girl  indeed.  That  if  destroyed  my  repu- 
tation. I  had  too  much  honour  to  tell  a  story. 

What  a  passion,  to  be  sure,  the  dominie  got  into 
the  next  day,  when  informed  of  my  disgrace !  I 
cannot  bear  to  see  a  long,  thin  man  in  a  passion  to 
this  very  hour ;  there  is  nothing  on  earth  like  it, 
except  a  Lombardy  poplar  in  a  storm.  However, 
if  poor  Master  Ben  was  tormented  in  the  study  by 
me,  he  was  more  tormented  in  the  servants'  hall  by 
pretty  Peggy. 

Peggy  was  exactly  a  lively  Irish  coquette :  such 
merry,  twinkling  black  eyes;  such  white  teeth, 


302  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

which  were  often  exposed  by  the  loud  and  joyous 
laugh  that  extended  her  large  but  well-formed 
mouth  ;  and  such  a  bounding,  lissom  figure,  always 
(no  small  merit  in  an  Irish  lassie)  neatly,  if  not 
tastefully,  arrayed.  She  was  an  especial  favourite 
with  my  dear  grandmother,  who  had  been  her 
patron  from  early  childhood  ;  and  Peggy  fully  and 
highly  valued  herself  on  this  account.  Then  she 
could  read  and  write  in  her  own  way ;  wore  lace 
caps,  with  pink  and  blue  bows  ;  and,  as  curls  were 
interdicted,  braided  her  raven  locks  with  much  care 
and  attention. 

The  smartest,  prettiest  girl,  at  wake  or  pattern, 
for  ten  miles  round,  was  certainly  Peggy  O'Dell ; 
and  many  lovers  had  she ;  from  Thomas  Murphy 
of  the  Hill  (the  richest),  who  had  a  cow,  six  pigs, 
and  all  requisites  to  make  a  woman  happy,  accord- 
ing to  his  own  account,  to  Wandering  Will  (the 
poorest),  who,  though  not  five-and-twenty,  had  been 
a  jovial  sailor,  a  brave  soldier,  a  capital  fiddler,  a 
very  excellent  cobbler,  a  good  practical  surgeon 
(he  had  performed  several  very  clever  operations  as 
a  dentist  and  bone-setter,  I  assure  you),  and,  at 
last,  settled  as  universal  assistant  in  the  Manor- 
house,  cleaned  the  carriage  and  horses  with  Frank, 
waited  at  table  with  Dennis,  helped  Martha  to  carry 
home  the  milk,  instructed  Peter  Kean  how  to  train 
vines  in  the  Portuguese  fashion  (which  foreign  treat- 
ment had  so  ill  an  effect  on  our  poor  Irish  vines 
that,  to  Wandering  Will's  eternal  disgrace,  they 
withered  and  died — a  circumstance  honest  Peter 


MASTER  BEN  303 

never  failed  to  remind  him  of,  whenever  he  presumed 
to  suggest  any  alteration  in  horticultural  arrange- 
ments), had  the  exclusive  care  of  the  household 
brewing,  and  was  even  detected  in  assisting  old 
Margaret  hunting  the  round  meadow  for  eggs,  which 
the  obstinate  lady-fowl  preferred  hiding  among 
brakes  and  bushes  to  depositing,  in  a  proper  manner, 
in  the  hen-house.  Moreover,  Will  was  "the  jewil" 
of  all  the  county  during  the  hunting  and  shooting 
season — knew  all  the  fox-earths,  and  defied  the 
simple  cunning  of  hare  and  partridge ;  made  love 
to  all  the  pretty  girls  in  the  village  ;  and,  as  he  was 
handsome,  notwithstanding  the  loss  of  one  of  his 
beautiful  eyes,  everybody  said  that  no  one  would 
refuse  William,  were  he  even  as  poor  again  as  he 
was — an  utter  impossibility.  The  rumour  spread, 
however,  that  his  wandering  affections  were  actually 
settled  into  a  serious  attachment  for  Peggy;  but 
who  Peggy  was  in  love  with  was  another  matter. 
She  jested  with  everybody,  and  laughed  more  at 
Master  Ben  than  at  any  one  else ;  she  was  always 
delighted  when  an  opportunity  occurred  of  playing 
off  droll  tricks  to  his  disadvantage;  and  some  of 
her  jokes  were  so  practical  that  the  housekeeper 
frequently  threatened  to  inform  her  mistress  of  her 
pranks.  Master  Ben  was  always  the  first  to  prevent 
this ;  and  his  constant  remonstrance,  "  Mistress 
Betty,  let  the  innocent  cratur  alone,  she  manes  no 
harm ;  she  knows  I  don't  mind  her  youthful  fun — 
the  cratur  ! "  saved  Peggy  many  a  reproof. 

One  morning  I  had  been  more  than  ordinarily 


304  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

inattentive ;  and  my  tutor,  perplexed,  or,  as  he 
termed  it,  "  fairly  bothered,"  requested  to  speak  to 
my  grandmother.  When  she  granted  him  audience, 
he  stammered  and  blundered  in  such  a  manner 
that  it  was  quite  impossible  to  ascertain  what  he 
wanted  to  speak  about ;  at  length  out  it  came — 
"  He  had  saved  a  good  pinny  o'  money,  and  thought 
it  time  to  settle  in  life." 

"Settle,  Mister  Benjamin! — why, I  always  thought 
you  were  a  settled,  sober  man.  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 
inquired  my  grandmother. 

"  To  get  married,  ma'am,"  rousing  all  his  energies 
to  pronounce  the  fatal  sentence. 

"  Married  ?  "  repeated  my  grandmother, — "  mar- 
ried!— you,  Benjamin  Rattin,  married  at  your  time 
of  life ! — and  to  whom  ?  " 

"  I  was  only  eight-and-forty,  madam,"  he  replied 
(drawing  himself  up),  "  my  last  birthday ;  and,  by 
your  lave,  I  mane  to  marry  Peggy  O'Dell." 

"Peggy! — you  marry  Peggy!"  She  found  it 
impossible  to  maintain  the  sober  demeanour  neces- 
sary when  such  declarations  are  made.  "  Mister 
Benjamin,  Peggy  is  not  twenty,  gay  and  giddy  as  a 
young  fawn ;  and,  I  must  confess,  I  should  not  like 
her  to  marry  for  four  or  five  years.  Now,  as  you 
certainly  cannot  wait  all  that  time,  I  think  you 
ought  to  think  of  some  one  else." 

"  Your  pardon,  madam  ;  she  is  my  first,  and  shall 
be  my  last,  love.  And  I  know,"  added  the  dominie, 
looking  modestly  on  the  carpet,  "  that  she  has  a 
tinderness  for  me." 


MASTER  BEN  305 

"  What !  Peggy  a  tenderness  for  you  ! — poor 
child! — quite  impossible!"  said  my  grandmother ; 
"  she  never  had  the  tenderness  you  mean  for  any- 
living  man,  I'll  answer  for  it ; "  and  the  bell  was 
rung  to  summon  Miss  Peggy  to  the  presence. 

She  entered — blushed  and  simpered  at  the  first 
questions  put  to  her:  at  last  my  grandmother 
deliberately  asked  her  if  she  had  given  Mister  Ben 
encouragement  at  any  time — and  this  she  most 
solemnly  denied. 

"  Oh,  you  hard-hearted  girl  you ! — did  you  ever 
ce;  se  laughing  from  the  time  I  came  in  till  I  went 
out  o'  the  house  ?  Weren't  you  always  smiling  at 
me,  and  playing  your  pranks,  and " 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Peggy,  at  once  assuming  a  grave 
and  serious  manner, — "  stop  !  Maybe  I  laughed 
too  much — but  I  shall  cry  more,  if" — (and  she  fell 
on  her  knees  at  my  grandmother's  feet) — "if  ye  don't 
forgive  me,  mistress  dear, — almost  the  first,  sar- 
tainly  the  last,  time  I  shall  ever  offend  you." 

"  Child,  you  have  not  angered  me,"  replied  my 
grandmother,  who  saw  her  emotion  with  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Oh  yes  ;  but  I  know  best — I  have — I  have — 
I  know  I  have  ! — but  I'll  never  do  so  more — never 
— never !  "  and  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 
Poor  Master  Ben  stood  aghast. 

"  Speak,"  said  my  grandmother,  almost  bewil- 
dered ;  "  speak,  and  at  once — what  have  you 
done  ? " 

"  Oh  !  he  over-persuaded  me,  and  said  ye'd  never 


306  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

consint  till  it  was  done ;  and  so  we  were  married, 
last  night,  at  Judy  Ryan's  station." 

"  Married  !  to  whom,  in  the  name  of  wonder  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Willy— Wandering  Willy  ;  but  he'll  never 
wander  more :  he'll  be  tame  and  steady,  and,  to  the 
last  day  of  his  life,  he'll  sarve  you  and  yours  ;  and 
only  forgive  me,  your  poor  Peggy,  that  ye  saved 
from  want,  and  that  '11  never  do  the  like  again — no, 
never !  "  The  poor  girl  clasped  her  hands  implor- 
ingly, but  did  not  dare  to  look  her  mistress  in  the 
face.  My  grandmother  rose  and  left  the  room ; 
she  was  much  offended  :  nor  could  it  be  denied 
that  Peggy's  conduct  was  highly  improper.  The 
child  of  her  bounty,  she  had  acted  with  duplicity, 
and  married  a  man  whose  unsteady  habits  promised 
little  for  her  comfort. 

Poor  Master  Ben ! — lovers'  sorrows  furnish  abun- 
dant themes  for  jest  and  jesters ;  but  they  are  not 
the  less  serious,  on  that  account,  to  those  immedi- 
ately concerned  in  les  affaires  du  cceur.  When  he 
heard  the  confession  that  she  was  truly  married,  he 
looked  at  her  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  quitted 
the  house,  determined  never  to  enter  it  again. 
Peggy  and  her  husband  were  dismissed;  but  a 
good  situation  was  soon  procured  for  Will,  as 
commander  of  a  small  vessel  that  traded  from 
Waterford  to  Bannow  with  corn,  coal,  timber,  "  and 
sundries."  Contrary  to  all  expectation,  he  made 
a  kind  and  affectionate  husband. 

Winter  had  nearly  passed,  and  Peggy  almost 
ceased  to  dread  the  storms  that  scatter  so  many 


MASTER  BEN  307 

wrecks  along  our  frowning  coast.  Her  little  cabin 
was  a  neat,  cheerful  dwelling,  in  a  sheltered  nook  ; 
and  often,  during  her  husband's  absence,  did  she  go 
forth  to  look  out  upon  the  ocean-flood — 

"With  not  a  sound  beside,  except  when  flew 
Aloft  the  lapwing,  or  the  grey  curlew," 

and  gaze  and  watch  for  his  sail  on  the  blue  waters. 
On  the  occasion  to  which  I  refer  he  had  been  long 
expected  home  ;  and  many  of  the  rich  farmers,  who 
used  coal  instead  of  turf,  went  down  to  the  pier 
to  inquire  if  the  Pretty  Peggy  (so  Will  called  his 
boat)  had  come  in.  The  wind  was  contrary,  but 
as  the  weather  was  fair,  no  one  thought  of  danger. 
Soon  the  little  bark  hove  in  sight,  and  soon  was 
Peggy  at  the  pier,  watching  for  his  figure  on  deck, 
or  for  the  waving  of  hat  or  handkerchief,  the  be- 
loved token  of  recognition ;  but  no  such  token 
appeared.  The  dreadful  tale  was  soon  told.  Peggy, 
about  to  become  a  mother,  was  already  a  widow. 

Will  had  fallen  overboard  in  endeavouring  to 
secure  a  rope  that  had  slipped  from  the  side  of  his 
vessel ;  the  night  was  dark,  and  one  deep,  heavy 
splash  alone  knelled  the  departure  of  poor  Wander- 
ing Willy. 

Peggy,  forlorn  and  desolate,  suffered  the  bitter 
pains  of  childbirth,  and  in  a  few  hours  expired — 
her  heart  was  broken. 

About  five  years  after  this  melancholy  event,  I 
was  rambling  amongst  the  tombs  and  ruins  of  the 


308  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

venerable  church  of  Bannow.  Every  stone  of  that 
old  pile  is  hallowed  to  my  remembrance ;  its  bleak 
situation,  the  barren  sandhills  that  surround  it, 
and — 

"The  measured  chime,  the  thundering  burst," 

of  the  boundless  ocean,  always  rendered  it,  in  my 
earliest  days,  a  place  of  grand  and  overpowering 
interest.  Even  now — 

"  I  miss  the  voice  of  waves — the  first 
That  awoke  my  childhood's  glee," 

and  often  think  of  the  rocks  and  cliffs  and  blue 
sea  that  first  led  my  thoughts  "  from  nature  up  to 
nature's  God." 

I  looked  through  the  high-arched  window  into 
the  churchyard,  and  observed  an  elderly  man,  kneel- 
ing on  one  knee,  employed  in  pulling  up  the  docks 
and  nettles  that  overshadowed  an  humble  grave, 
under  the  south  wall.  A  pale,  delicate  little  girl 
quietly  and  silently  watched  all  he  did  ;  and  when 
no  offensive  weed  remained,  carefully  scattered 
over  it  a  large  nosegay  of  fresh  flowers,  and,  in- 
structed by  the  aged  man,  knelt  on  the  mound  and 
lisped  a  simple  prayer  to  the  memory  of  her 
mother. 

It  was,  indeed,  my  old  friend,  "  Master  Ben  " ; 
the  pale  child  he  had  long  called  his — it  was  the 
orphan  daughter  of  William  and  Peggy.  His  love 
was  not  the  love  of  worldlings ;  despite  his  outward 
man,  it  was  pure  and  unsophisticated :  it  pleased 
God  to  give  him  the  heart  to  be  a  father  to  the 


MASTER  BEN  309 

fatherless.  The  girl  is  now  the  blessing  of  his  old 
age  ;  and,  as  he  has  long  since  given  up  his  school, 
he  finds  much  amusement  in  instructing  his  adopted 
child,  who,  I  understand,  has  already  made  great 
progress  in  his  favourite  science  of  numbers. 


MOYNA   BRADY 

OR 

IRISH  "LUCK" 

"WELL,  ma'am  dear,  I  never  thought  yer  going 
into  foreign  parts  would  make  a  heathen  of  ye 
intirely.  To  be  sure  it  turns  the  mind  a  little  to 
leave  one's  own  people ;  but  to  shift  that  way 
against  what  the  world  knows  to  be  true — true  as 
gospel !  It's  myself  that  couldn't  even  it  to  you, 
at  all  at  all— so  I  couldn't— if  I  hadn't  heard  it 
with  my  own  ears  ! " 

"  I  assure  you,  Moyna,  you  are  very  much  mis- 
taken in  imagining  that  the  whole  world  adopts 
your  notions  of  predestination,  for " 

"  I  ax  yer  pardon  for  interrupting  ye,  my  lady  ; 
but  I  said  nothing  at  all  about  pra-pra — I  can't 
twist  my  tongue  round  the  word,"  continued 
Moyna ;  adding,  with  that  exuberant  vanity  which 
prevents  the  Irish  from  ever  •  pleading  guilty  to 
the  sin  of  ignorance — "  not  but  I've  often  heard  it 
before." 

"  Predestination  means  what  you   call  luck — a 


MOYNA  BRADY  311 

thing  you  believe  you  cannot  avoid — a  sort  of 
spirit  that  deals  out  to  you  good  or  evil — in  de- 
fiance of  your  own  wishes." 

Moyna  looked  puzzled  —  exceedingly  puzzled. 
She  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  her  pipe  against  the 
post,  originally  intended  to  support  a  gate,  which, 
according  to  Moyna's  reading,  "  her  luck "  had 
prevented  from  being  either  made  or  hung;  and 
stuffing  her  middle  finger  into  the  bowl  of  the 
little  puffing  medium,  so  as  to  ascertain  that  no 
hidden  fire  remained  in  its  recess,  she  returned  it 
to  her  pocket,  clasped  her  hands  so  as  to  grasp  the 
post  within  their  palms,  and,  leaning  against  it,  one 
foot  crossed  over  the  instep  of  the  other,  she 
turned  her  head  a  little  round,  and  called  to  her 
husband  by  the  familiar  but  affectionate  appellation 
of  "  Tim,  avourneen  ! "  "  Tim,"  or  to  speak  cor- 
rectly, Timothy  Brady,  made  his  appearance  from 
beneath  the  roof  of  a  picturesque  but  most 
comfortless  dwelling — a  cottage  that  would  have 
looked  delightful  in  a  painted  landscape — a  matter 
essentially  different  from  a  delightful  cottage  in 
reality.  Nothing  could  be  more  beautiful  than 
the  surrounding  scenery — wood  and  water,  hill 
and  dale,  a  bold  mountain  in  the  distance,  a  blue 
sky  overhead,  the  turrets  of  a  lofty  castle  shining 
among  the  woods,  and  the  lawns  and  shrubberies 
of  another,  extending  to  the  little  patch  of  common, 
on  which  seven  or  eight  huts,  similar  in  appearance 
to  my  poor  friend's  dwelling,  were  congregated. 
The  lord  of  the  one  mansion  imported  his  own 


312  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

mutton  into  England,  and  the  master  of  the  other 
assured  his  London  friends  that  his  agent  assured 
him  "  that  the  peasantry  was  the  finest  peasantry 
on  the  face  of  the  earth."  But  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other  had  anything  to  do  with  my  poor  cottar 
and  his  wife,  for  it  was  many  years  since  they 
had  visited  their  estates.  Had  it  been  otherwise, 
Timothy  and  Moyna  must  have  thought  more 
wisely  and  acted  more  discreetly. 

Timothy  Brady  differed  in  nothing  from  the 
generality  of  his  countrymen,  except  that  he  was 
"  better  lamed,"  for  he  could  read  and  write,  and, 
when  a  lad,  was  in  great  esteem  as  a  "  mass 
server,"  and  noted  as  being  "  remarkable  handsome 
at  the  altar."  I  had  not  seen  him  for  some  time, 
and  was  struck  with  the  painful  change  which  a 
few  years  had  made  in  his  fine  athletic  form. 
Moyna  had  ever  been  a  careless,  affectionate 
"  slob  of  a  girl,"  who  would  "  go  from  Bantry  to 
Boyne  to  serve  me,  on  her  bare  knees,"  but  had 
little  idea  of  serving  herself.  Such  a  character  is 
not  improved  by  age ;  but  there  was  a  time  when 
I  had  hoped  a  better  fate  for  Timothy.  His 
sunken  eye  became  bright  and  animated  when  he 
saw  one  who  had  rendered  him  some  service,  and 
he  pulled  up  his  stockings  over  his  bare  legs  with 
that  striking  regard  to  propriety  which  an  Irish 
peasant  rarely  .forgets  in  the  presence  of  a  female. 
After  the  usual  civilities  had  passed,  Moyna  com- 
menced : — 

"  The   lady's  at  me  agin    about  the  luck  ;   and 


INCONVENIENCES  OF  A  SINGLE   LIFE 

From  a  Painting  by 
ERSKINE  NICOL,  R.S.A. 


w 


MOYNA   BRADY  313 

now,  maybe,  she'll  have  the  goodness  to  say  what 
she  said  awhile  ago." 

"  I  told  your  wife  that  predestination  is  what 
she  calls  luck,  and  that  she  would  agree  very  well 
with  the  Turks." 

"  The  Turks  ! "  repeated  Moyna,  throwing  up 
her  hands  and  eyes  in  horror.  "  Oh,  ma'am  honey, 
I  never  thought  you'd  even  the  Turks  to  one  of 
your  own  country !  Oh  Tim  !  Tim  !  was  I  like  a 
Turk  when  I  sat  by  your  bed,  night  and  day, 
while  ye  had  the  typhus  fever  ?  Was  I  like  a 
Turk  when  I  took  Mary  Clooney's  child  from  off 
the  dead  breast  of  its  mother,  and  she  kilt  at  the 
same  time  by  that  very  fever  that  kilt  her  husband  ? 
Was  I  like  a  Turk  when  I  took  the  bed,  that  was 
no  bed,  only  a  lock  o'  straw,  from  under  me,  that 
blind  Barry  might  die  dacent  and  asy,  in  consider- 
ation of  the  high  family  that  owned  him?  Was  I 
like  a  Turk  when " 

"  Moyna,  will  ye  whisht,  woman  dear  ?  You  have 
no  understanding ;  the  lady  only  meant  that  you 
and  the  Turks  had  different  names  for  the  same 
thing.  Wasn't  that  it  ?  " 

I  bowed  and  smiled. 

"  Was  that  it  ?  Och,  bother !  to  be  sure  we 
have  different  names.  I  ax  yer  pardon ;  but  I 
think  ye  said  I'd  agree  with  the  Turks?  " 

"  Yes,  good  Moyna,  in  one  thing— you  believe  in 
luck,  and  so  do  they." 

Moyna  was  appeased,  and  Timothy  took  up  the 
matter. 


314  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

"  There's  no  denying  luck,  nor  no  going  against 
it,  lady  dear,  that's  the  short  and  the  long  of  it. 
It's  my  luck  never  to  make  as  much  by  anything 
as  another  man.  Why,  the  boneen  we  reared  from 
the  size  o'  my  hand,  that  Darby  Cobb  offered  me 
any  money  for  at  Candlemas,  caught  could  and  died 
at  Easter — sorra  a  man  on  the  common  had  the 
luck  to  lose  a  pig  but  myself!" 

"  How  did  it  catch  cold  ?  " 

"  Out  of  nothing  in  the  world  but  my  luck.  It 
was  used,  poor  thing,  to  sleep  in  the  cabin  with 
ourselves,  as  the  sty  had  no  roof;  but  a  neighbour's 
child  was  sick,  and  my  woman  axed  some  of  the 
family  in,  and  the  pig  was  forced,  out  of  manners, 
to  give  up  his  bed  and  sleep  in  the  sty,  which,  as 
it  had  no  roof,  let  in  the  rain.  And  it  was  mourn- 
ful to  hear  the  wheezing  he  had  in  the  morning, 
and  to  see  him  turn  his  back  on  the  pick  of  the 
mealy  potatoes  just  before  he  died. 

"Well,  Timothy,  I  should  call  that  mismanage- 
ment. I  do  not  see  either  good  or  bad  luck  in  the 
case ;  for  it  is  clear  that  if  the  sty  had  been  roofed 
the  pig  would  not  have  been  accustomed  to  cottage 
warmth,  and,  consequently,  could  not  have  caught 
cold." 

"  Well,  lady,  listen  ;  it  was  my  luck  intirely  that 
hindered  my  roofing  the  sty.  I'll  tell  ye  all  about 
it.  Did  ye  know  Tom  Dooly?  Sorra  a  hand's 
turn  he'd  do  from  Monday  morning  till  Saturday 
night,  barring  the  height  of  mischief.  Ye  didn't 
know  Tom?  Well,  ma'am,  IWsure  ye  mind  his 


MOYNA   BRADY  ,  315 

brother  Micky — '  one-eyed  Mick,'  he  was  called, 
because  he  as  good  as  lost  the  ofher  in  a  bit  of  a 
spree  at  the  fair  of  Rathmullin,  and  could  get  no 
justice  for  it." 

"  No  justice  for  the  spree,  do  you  mean,  Timothy  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am ;  I  mean,  no  justice  for  his  eye — 
clearly  proving  there's  no  law  for  the  poor,  God 
help  them  !  The  boy  he  fought  with  was  as  good 
as  thirty  years  older  than  himself — a  tough  old 
fellow,  with  a  crack-stick  skull  that  nothing  could 
harm.  So  Mick  know'd  that,  and  he  never  offered 
at  the  head,  but  the  shins,  which  he  broke  as  corn- 
plate  as  anything  you  ever  saw.  And  so  the 
magistrate  set  the  ould  boy's  shins  against  Micky's 
eye,  and  bid  them  make  it  up.  Ah,  there's  no  law 
for  the  poor,  at  all  at  all." 

"  But,  Timothy,  let  us  get  back  to  where  we  set 
out — the  pig-sty." 

"  Troth,  yes,"  returned  Tim,  "  though  I'm  sorry 
to  take  a  lady  to  a  dirty  subject.  Tom  Dooly 
says  to  me,  says  he,  '  Tim,  ye're  in  want  of  a  lock 
of  straw  to  keep  the  heavens  out  of  the  piggery.' 
'  I  am,'  says  I.  '  Well,'  says  he, '  come  over  to  me  ; 
I've  a  lot  of  as  fine  barley-straw  as  ever  danced 
under  a  flail,  and  ye  shall  have  it  just  for  thank  ye.' 
'  God  bless  ye,  and  good  luck  to  you  and  yours, 
Misther  Tom,'  says  I,  '  good  luck  to  you  and  yours 
for  ever,  Amin ! '  '  And  when  'ill  you  look  over 
for  it?'  says  he.  ' To-morrow,  for  sartin,'  says  I. 
1  Very  good ;  to-morrow,  by  all  means,'  says  he ; 
'  and  make  my  respects  to  the  woman  that  owns 


3l6  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

ye.'  Now,  ma'am  dear,  mind  the  luck  ;  something 
or  other  hindered  Moyna  from  taking  my  brogues 
to  the  brogue-maker's  to  be  mended  that  night,  so 
I  couldn't  go  the  next  day,  and  that  very  evening 
a  great  splinter  ran  into  my  foot  out  of  the  spade- 
handle." 

"  Stop,  my  good  friend.  If  the  spade-handle  was 
splintered,  why  did  you  not  mend  it  ?  " 

"  Ma'am  dear,  that  was  a  way  you  had,  ever  and 
always,  tripping  a  body  up  in  their  story.  Sure  I 
did  mend — that  is,  I  eased  it  with  a  bit  of  a  cord  ; 
but  it  was  my  luck  hindered  me,  and  the  bad  foot, 
from  going  the  day  after  that ;  and  one  thing  or 
another  came  across  me,  until  it  was  just  a  week 
before  I  could  go  for  the  straw.  Well,  the  black 
boy  himself  put  it  into  my  head  to  borrow 
Matthew  Maccan's  white  mare.  '  Take  her,  and 
welcome,'  says  Matty ;  '  but  mind,  if  you  put  your- 
self or  anything  else  on  her,  she'll  kick  till  she 
smashes  every  bone  in  your  body,  though  she'll 
draw  a  creel  or  a  cart  till  the  day  of  judgment,  as 
easy  as  May  butter.'  '  Thank  ye  kindly,  Matthew,' 
says  I, '  I'll  mind  fast  enough  ; '  and  away  I  went. 
And  at  his  own  gate  I  saw  Tom,  as  grand  as 
Cromwell,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  a  silk 
Barcelona  round  his  neck,  like  any  gentleman.  To 
be  sure,  the  luck  of  some  people !  '  Good  evening, 
Tim,'  says  he.  '  Good  evening  kindly,'  says  I. 
'  Where  are  you  going  with  Mat  Maccan's  beast  ? ' 
says  he.  '  No  farther  than  this/  says  I,  '  until  I  go 
home  again.'  '  I'm  always  glad  to  see  an  ould 


MOYNA  BRADY  317 

friend;  but  why  didn't  ye  come,'  says  he  again, 
'for  the  barley-straw?'  'Sure  I'm  come  for  it 
now,'  says  I.  'You  are?'  says  he,  opening  his 
great  grey  eyes  at  me,  like  a  wild  cat.  '  Sorra  as 
much  of  it  for  ye,  then,  as  would  build  a  sparrow's 
nest,'  said  the  traitor ;  '  if  ye'd  been  glad  of  it  ye 
might  have  come  when  you  was  bid  to  come,  and 
not  let  a  whole  week  rowl  over  your  head.  I  gave 
the  straw  to  Jemmy  Hatchet,  and  by  this  time  it's 
no  straw  at  all,  but  a  roof,  and  a  good  one  too,  to 
his  sty,  and  his  nate  clane  barn.'  '  It's  ill  done  of 
ye,'  says  I,  as  cool  as  a  cabbage-leaf,  though  my 
blood  was  boilin'  at  the  ill  luck  that  follows  me ; 
'ye  might  have  waited — but  never  heed;'  and  I 
turned  the  horse  round  to  come  home.  '  Sure,' 
says  he, '  ye're  not  going  to  stir  ill-blood  out  of  the 
offer  I  made  ye  from  kindness ;  if  ye  did  not  take 
advantage  of  it,  it  was  your  fault,  not  mine.'  Well, 
I  didn't  value  the  straw  a  traneen,  ma'am  dear,  I've 
a  spirit  above  it ;  but  I  did  not  like  his  bestowing 
his  dirty  straw  upon  Jemmy  Hatchet ;  so  I  makes 
answer, '  Do  ye  say  I'm  in  fault?'  '  To  be  sure  I 
do,'  he  says,  with  a  grin  of  a  laugh.  '  Then  by  this 
and  by  that,'  I  says,  swearing  a  great  whale  of  an 
oath,  that  I'd  be  sorry  to  repeat  before  a  lady, '  I'll 
make  ye  eat  both  the  words  and  the  straw.'  '  Ye 
can't,'  says  he,  '  and  what's  more  ye  darn't ;  ain't  I 
the  priest's  nephy  ? '  Well,  that  would  rouse  the 
blood  of  a  wood-queest,  for  it  was  cowardly  like ; 
and,  as  my  luck  would  have  it,  I  hot  him  an  un- 
lucky blow,  and  a  dale  of  sorrow  it  got  me  into,  for 


3l8  IRISH  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

I  had  the  world  and  all  of  pinance,  to  say  nothing 
of  being  had  up,  and  he  swearing  he  gave  no  pro- 
vocation. For  sartin,  I  didn't  mean  to  have  struck 
so  hard,  and  didn't  think  his  bones  were  so  soft. 
But  that  wasn't  all  of  it :  going  home — the  trouble 
of  what  I  had  done  uppermost — I  forgot  what  Mat 
had  said  about  the  horse,  and  got  on  the  baste's 
back,  who  made  no  more  ado  but  kicked,  and 
plunged,  and  pitched  me  into  the  thick  of  a  pond 
full  of  young  ducks  and  geese ;  and  two  ganders 
set  upon  me  and  as  good  as  tore  the  eyes  out  of  my 
head  before  I  could  get  out  of  the  water ;  and  I 
had  to  pay  two-and -three-halfpence  for  the  young 
that  was  killed  in  the  scrimmage.  And  well  I 
know  it's  long  afore  such  luck  would  have  followed 
any  other  boy  in  the  parish  but  myself.  Now, 
ma'am  dear,  isn't  that  luck  ?  " 

"  Is  your  story  finished,  Tim  ?  " 

"  It  just  is,  ma'am  darlint — the  story  is  finished  ; 
but  I  could  tell  ye  twenty  as  good,  and  better  too, 
to  show  what  ill-luck  I  have." 

"  There  is  no  luck,  ill  or  well,  that  I  can  see,  from 
beginning  to  end.  Your  misfortunes  entirely  arose 
out  of  your  want  of  punctuality.  Had  your  shoes 
been  mended,  as  they  ought  to  have  been,  you  could 
have  gone  for  the  straw  with  comfort  on  the  even- 
ing you  appointed.  Still,  their  not  being  mended 
was  no  excuse  for  your  want  of  punctuality.  You 
put  me  in  mind  of  an  anecdote  I  once  heard  of  two 
Irishmen,  who  were  too  lazy  to  pluck  the  figs  that 
hung  over  their  heads  in  a  beautiful  garden  in  Italy. 


MOYNA  BRADY  319 

There  they  lay  on  their  backs — beneath  a  tree 
covered  with  fruit,  their  mouths  open  for  the  figs 
to  fall  into.  At  last  a  fig,  by  what  you  would  call 
'  luck,'  fell  into  the  mouth  of  one  of  these  Irishmen. 
'  What  a  lucky  dog  you  are,  Paddy  ! '  said  the  other, 
opening  his  mouth  still  more  widely.  '  I  don't 
know  that,  Looney,'  replied  Paddy,  after  swallow- 
ing the  fig, '  for  I  have  had  the  trouble  of  chewing 
it ! '" 

"  Agh,  ma'am  honey !  I  wonder  you  have  the 
heart  to  tell  such  stories  against  your  own  country, 
letting  the  foreigners  laugh  at  us  that  way." 

"  Listen,  Timothy ;  how  would  your  own  case 
read  ?  Timothy  Brady  was  indicted  for  an  assault 
on  Mister  Thomas  Dooly,  who  swore  that  he  told 
the  aforesaid  Timothy  Brady  that  if  he  came  to 
him  on  the  evening  of  the  first  of  May  he  would 
make  him  a  present  of  a  load  of  straw  to  thatch 
his  pig-sty;  that  Brady  promised  to  come,  but 
never  came  until  the  seventh  of  May,  and,  in  the 
meantime,  he,  Thomas  Dooly,  thinking  that  Brady 
did  not  mean  to  thatch  his  pig-sty,  had  given  the 
load  of  straw  to  an  industrious  man,  who  did  thatch 
his  pig-sty ;  that,  when  Brady  found  the  straw  had 
been  given,  he,  without  any  provocation " 

"  Oh,  asy,  ma'am  dear,  you  forget  the  laugh." 

"  And  who  could  help  laughing  ? — without  any 
provocation,  did  assault  the  said  Thomas  Dooly ! 
Now  is  it  not  so,  worthy  Timotheus  ?  " 

Reasoning  with  the  Irish  on  this  subject  is  pretty 
much  like  attempting  to  swim  against  the  stream 


320  IRISH   LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

of  a  powerful  river.  You  catch  some  little  turn  or 
current,  and  you  think  you  have  them  there.  No 
such  thing.  Away  they  go  the  next  moment. 

Moyna  now  took  up  the  subject.  "  Sure,  ma'am, 
you  must  allow  what  happened  to  Milly  Boyle  was 
luck,  poor  thing ! — she'd  as  bad  luck  as  her  neigh- 
bours, and  worse  too,  but  she  could  not  go  past 
what  was  before  her." 

"  Milly  Boyle, — I  remember  her, — a  blue-eyed, 
fair-haired  girl." 

"  With  rosy  cheeks  and  a  smile  always  ready  to 
coax  them  into  dimples.  Ah,  ma'am,  she  was  the 
pride  of  the  whole  village.  And  her  poor  mother 
— and  she  a  widdy — doated  on  her  as  no  mother 
doated  on  a  child  before  or  since,  to  my  thinking. 
Then  her  voice  was  as  clear  as  a  bell,  and  as  sweet 
as  a  lamb's ;  and  though  she  had  forty  pounds  to 
her  fortune,  beside  furniture,  a  feather-bed,  and  a 
cow,  to  say  nothing  of  the  pigs  and  powers  of  fowl 
and  lashings  of  meal  and  cutlings, — sure  her  uncle 
big  Larry  Boyle  was  a  miller, — though  she  had  all 
them  things,  she  was  as  humble  as  a  wild  violet, 
and  to  the  poor  was  ever  ready  with  a  soft  word 
and  a  '  God  save  ye  kindly,'  and  her  hand  in  her 
pocket,  and  out  with  a  fivepenny-bit,  or  a  tester ; 
or  would  think  nothing  of  lapping  her  cloak  round 
her,  and  away  to  any  sick  woman,  or  poor  craythur 
of  a  man,  that  'ud  be  ailing,  and  give  them  the 
grain  of  tea,  or  the  bit  of  tobaccy,  or  taste  of  snuff  to 
comfort  them ;  and  the  prayer  of  the  countryside 
was, '  Good  luck  to  Milly  Boyle  ! '  To  be  sure,  if 


MOYNA  BRADY  321 

she  hadn't  the  bachelors,  no  girl  ever  had — shoals 
of  'em  watching  for  her  coming  out  of  chapel,  or 
from  the  station,  or  the  wake,  as  it  might  be,  way- 
laying her,  as  a  body  may  say;  and  though  she 
was  main  civil  to  them  all,  and  smiles  were  as 
plenty  and  as  sweet  with  her  as  harvest  berries,  yet 
it  was  long  before  she  laid  her  mind  to  any,  until 
her  fancy  fixed  on  Michael  Laughton,  one  of  the 
best  boys  in  the  barony.  Handsome  and  well-to- 
do  in  the  world  was  Michael,  and  every  one  was 
rejoiced  at  her  luck.  Well,  the  day  was  fixed  for 
the  wedding,  and  even  the  poor  mother  thanked 
God  on  her  knees,  and  offered  a  cock  to  St. 
Martin,  and  a  box  of  real  wax-candles  to  the 
Virgin — her  blessing  be  about  us  for  ever  and 
ever,  Amen  !  And  the  evening  before,  Michael  and 
Milly  were  walking  down  by  the  river  at  the  bottom 
of  the  common,  and  Milly  spied  a  bunch  of  wild 
roses  hanging  over  the  stream,  and  she  took  a  fancy 
to  the  flowers ;  and  to  be  sure  Mike  made  a  spring 
at  them.  But  his  luck  took  the  footing  from  under 
him,  and — Lord  save  us  ! — the  boy  was  drowned  in 
the  sight  of  her  eyes.  But  the  worst  of  the  woe  is 
to  come  She  got  a  brain  fever  out  of  the  trouble, 
and  the  fever  scorched  up  her  brain  so  that  there 
was  no  sense  left  in  it,  though  her  heart  was  as 
warm  as  ever.  And  then  she  used  to  go  rambling 
about  the  counthry  with  her  hands  crossed  on  her 
breast,  and  her  eyes  evermore  wandering ;  and  if — 
and  if  she'd  hear  a  cry  or  a  moan,  she'd  run  to  see 
if  she  could  do  anything  to  lighten  the  trouble  ; 


322  IRISH    LIFE  AND   CHARACTER 

and  yet  she  had  no  sense  left  to  know  how  to 
set  about  it.  And  oh,  ma'am  dear,  the  mother  of 
her !  To  see  that  poor  woman  fading  away  from 
off  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  following  her  as  if 
she  was  her  shadow !  'twas  the  hardest  luck  I  ever 
saw." 

"  And  what  became  of  poor  Milly  ?  " 

"  The  worst  of  luck,  if  it's  as  long  as  a  mid- 
summer's day,  must  have  an  end — and  so,  ma'am 
dear,  Milly  died.  And  it  was  quare,  too,  she  was 
found  dead  under  a  wild-rose  tree.  I  often  heard 
they  were  unlucky  things.  There  she  was,  and  I 
have  heard  them  that  found  her  tell  that  it  was  a 
beautiful,  melancholy  sight  to  see  her — her  cheek 
resting  on  her  arm  as  if  she  was  asleep,  and  ever 
so  many  rose  leaves  scattered  by  nature  like  over 
her  whole  face." 

"  And  her  mother  ?  " 

"  Oh,  ma'am,  they  say  ould  hearts  are  tough ;  but 
if  it's  true,  sorrow  can  tear  them  to  pieces.  The 
two  were  buried  in  the  same  grave." 

Moyna's  story  moved  me  much ;  I  wished  them 
both  a  kind  good  morrow,  and  had  nearly  arrived 
at  the  village  where  we  lodged  when,  panting  and 
breathless,  she  overtook  me. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Moyna  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  man  has  the  toothache  so  bad  that  I'm 
forced  to  run  for  a  pipe ;  the  smoking  does  it  good. 
And  by  the  same  token,  the  stump  of  the  doodeen 
never  has  the  luck  to  last  him  long." 

"How  so?" 


MOYNA   BRADY  323 

"  Why,  he  ates  such  a  power  of  sugar-candy,  it 
destroys  the  pipes  all  as  one  as  the  teeth." 

"  Then  why  does  he  eat  the  sugar-candy  ?  " 

"  Twas  the  luck  of  the  family  to  murder  them- 
selves with  sugar ;  they  had  an  aunt  or  something, 
onct — long-iver-ago — with  a  sugar  plantation." 

"  Indeed  !     Then  he  has  no  pipe  ?  " 

"  We  had,  ma'am,  but  he  lent  it  to  Briney 
Mahon." 

"  But  I  saw  you  put  a  pipe  in  your  pocket  not 
twenty  minutes  ago." 

"  So  you  might,  ma'am  dear ;  that's  my  luck.  It 
would  have  stayed  quiet  and  easy  in  anybody  else's 
pocket ;  but  there  was  a  hole  in  mine,  so  it  walked 
out,  and  broke,  without  so  much  as  by  yer  leave." 

"  Why  did  you  not  mend  the  hole  ?  " 

"  Faith,  ma'am,  honey,  if  I  did  it  would  break 
out  again,"  said  Moyna,  with  some  impatience  of 
tone  and  gesture.  "  Where's  the  good  of  mending 
anything  when  we've  no  luck." 

Poor  Moyna !  she  would  have  been  very  angry 
had  she  known  that  I  again  compared  her  to  the 
Turks,  and  was  more  than  ever  satisfied  that,  till 
belief  in  such  weak  fatalism  is  destroyed,  poor 
Ireland  will  "  have  no  luck  ! " 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY 


A  000032273  5 


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